


After You

by Castielific



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Father-Son Relationship, Humor, Hunter Stiles Stilinski, Implied Torture, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-23 07:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 60,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castielific/pseuds/Castielific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Derek Hale - one of the only survivors of the family responsible for his mother’s death - comes back to Beacon Hills, Stiles decides to avenge his mom's death and prove to Chris Argent that he has what it takes to become a great hunter. He just wishes that there was a Wikipedia article on how to catch a werewolf. </p><p>Or how Stiles fails at being a hunter and may have a massive crush on his prey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Worsthobbitever and Samantha for their patience and beta work. Also, thank you to Justagirl-fangirling-around and Highermagic for reading this over.

 

****

**4 th November 2005**

 That day wasn’t going to be anything special.

 Stiles was ten years old at the time, and he was supposed to go shopping for shoes with his mother after school. In fact, he was supposed to do so the day before. And the day before that. And the day before that. But Stiles hated shopping and had been able to postpone it all week.

 He didn’t even understand what was wrong with his actual shoes. Sure, there was a hole near his big toe, but he thought that it gave him more street cred. He hated when his shoes were new and white and shiny and he had to keep them clean. In fact, the first thing he usually did with new shoes was to jump in the mud and dirt.

 Shoes weren’t mean to be that clean.  

 Sadly, his mother never understood that.

 Anyway, going shoe shopping that day? There was no way it was going to happen. Plus, Scott’s dad had just sent him the newest and coolest game, Guitar Hero, and there was no way Stiles was missing his chance to try it.

 Sadly, his sound reasoning didn’t seem to persuade his mom. His pestering did though. He had been telling her about Guitar Hero and how important it was that he played it that night with Scott since the moment he woke up that morning. He even sat in front of the bathroom door like he was holding a siege while his mom was showering, just talking and talking and talking.

 By the time Lisa stopped the car in front of the school that morning, she looked like she wanted to smash her head into the wheel.

 “Okay! You won! No shoes tonight!”

 “Yes!” Stiles couldn’t help exulting triumphantly, throwing his hands in the air, accidentally smashing them into the roof of the car.

 “But I’m coming to get you at seven and you better be ready to go. And Saturday,” she added pointing him, “we’re getting you new shoes. Saturday _morning_ ”

 “What?!” he started protesting. “But mom, I promised Scott that we would go check out the new…”

 “Tut tut, shoes. You will be checking out the new shoes on Saturday, or no Guitar Hero today, your choice”.

 “Okay,” Stiles accepted grudgingly, grabbing his bag on the backseat. “But there will be a breakfast burrito.”

 “Yeah, right”, his mom scoffed. “Cereal. And broccoli for dinner.”

 “What, no!”

 “What, yes,” she lightly mocked. “And the next time you try to manipulate me like this…”

 “I wasn’t…,” Stiles started to deny the accusation, but his mother stopped him with a glare. “It was for a good cause! Guitar Hero is the coolest, mom!”

 Lisa rolled her eyes, but couldn’t keep a smile off her face.

 “Kiss me goodbye, and go away”, she said pointing toward the school entrance, pretending to be angry.

 Stiles remembers hugging her that morning. His mom was awesome and he didn’t care if Jackson saw it and teased him about it later. She ruffled his hair and kissed him on the cheek. He got out of the car and ran straight toward Scott, victorious, and bearing the good news.

 He didn’t look back.

 Later, he’ll wish he had. He’ll wish he could have that last image of his mom in his head. That he would remember what she was wearing that day, or if her hair was loose or in a ponytail, or if she waved at him and he didn’t see it. He will wish to remember her like she was on that exact morning. But try as he might, years later, when he’ll tries to conjure her face in his mind, he can only envision her like a photograph. Frozen in time, lacking the personality and life that made his mom, _his mom_.

 Sometimes, he thinks about how ironic it is that he can’t remember his own mother’s face, but he will never forget Melissa McCall’s face when she hung up the phone that night.

 His mother was late in picking him up, so Melissa had proposed that he stay for dinner. He knew his mom; he knew that she always felt guilty when she was late. The guilt of being nearly half an hour late to come get him would probably gets him curly fries for dinner, so he passed on the offer.

 He was on the couch with Scott berating him because it was his turn to try and beat the song and Scott was refusing to give him the guitar, when the phone rang. Ms. McCall disappeared into the kitchen, reminding her son to play nice and share.

 Stiles had just managed to wrangle the controller away when he heard a clattering noise from the kitchen which startled him, giving Scott the opportunity to tackle him and get the guitar back.

For a second, Stiles debated on whether he should continue to fight for the guitar, before he decided to go check on Ms. McCall instead.

 When he arrived in the kitchen, she was standing near the sink, one hand on the counter for support and the other one covering her mouth.

 “Are you okay, Ms. McCall?” Stiles inquired.

 She looked up and there it was: the face he would never forget. The face he would always associate with that night. Her eyes were round, but her eyebrows were frowning like she was surprised and concentrating at the same time. She was biting her lower lip and breathing so hard he could see her nostrils flaring.

 It was only when she wiped at her cheeks that Stiles noticed she was crying. Stiles first instinct was to approach her and to try to reassure her. Mr. McCall gave Scott great gifts, but he was really mean to Scott’s mom ever since the divorce. Scott had told him that he could sometimes hear her crying at night, and was worried about it and wanted his dad to come back home. Stiles wasn’t so sure that Mr. McCall coming home would make Scott’s mom cry less, but he didn’t say anything, because talking about it always made Scott sad.   

 He walked over to Ms. McCall and tried to hug her, because his dad always told him that he had to be a gentleman, and hugging moms was okay as long as Jackson wasn’t around to mock him, but she put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. She squeezed really hard and leaned a little too much on him for a second before she crouched down to his level. For a few seconds, she just looked at him, opening and closing her mouth like she wanted to say something but couldn’t remember how to talk.

 That made Stiles very nervous. He suddenly realised that she didn’t look like she wanted him to comfort _her_ , she looked like she wanted to comfort him. She looked…sorry. She had that same look on her face that his dad had when he had run over Stiles’ brand new bike, or Scott had when he confessed to trying to pet Muffin (Stiles’ hamster) and then dropped him.

 His ears started ringing before the words were out of Melissa’s mouth. He felt that something was very very wrong and he didn’t want to know what it was.

 That was probably why, to this day, he couldn’t remember exactly what she said to him.

 All he remembered later was how his throat had hurt when he started screaming and sobbing at the same time, how he kept calling for his mom, knowing it was in vain. It would always be in vain now. He cried uninhibited like he did when he was a toddler: loud, wet and gross into Melissa’s shoulder. She tried to comfort him, knowing it was hopeless, but never stopping, wiping his tears with the edge of her shirt even as they kept coming.

 At one point, he stopped calling for his mom and started calling for his dad.

Why wasn’t he there? Was he okay? Was he gone too? he asked. But the words were faint and unintelligible, his throat felt tight, like it was squeezing shut until he felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore. He started panting, panic blocking the air from entering his lungs, making him gasp for air that didn’t seem to exist anymore. He couldn’t hear Ms. McCall’s voice, he didn’t want to hear her voice, he wanted his dad, he wanted his mom, he wanted this to not be real, he wanted to wake up, he wanted to know how to breathe again.

 He’d never had a panic attack before. He had never felt hopeless before. It was, truly, the first time Stiles ever felt genuinely scared, like he was facing something that nobody could protect him from. It never really stopped after that.

 “Genim Genim”

 Stiles blinked, his terror abating at the sound of the voice he was searching for. He looked around, but he couldn’t find him, he couldn’t find his dad.

 “Breathe, son. Come on, calm down”

 “D...dad?”

 Suddenly, air seemed to re-enter the room and he took a deep breath, clutching the phone against his ear.

 “Are you okay, daddy?”

 His voice was trembling, barely there, and when his father answered him, he realised his voice sounded as rough and worn as his was.

 His dad tried to reassure him, promised him he would come as soon as possible, but that he couldn’t be there right now. He tried to explain why, but Stiles didn’t want to hear it, not on the phone. He wanted his dad right there, right now. He begged, kept asking him if he was okay and when he was coming and why he wasn’t there, until the sheriff relented. He heard his dad tell something to someone and then he was promising he was coming right now. Stiles was still begging for his presence when his dad stopped trying to reassure him and just hung up, promising he was on his way. Stiles kept the phone clutched to the side of his face a few more seconds before he felt Ms. McCall caressing his cheek and taking the phone away.

 It was only when he dropped his arm that he realised that Scott was plastered against his back, his arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

 Ms. McCall tried to convince him to sit down on the couch to wait for his dad, Scott tried to guide him to his bedroom to calm down, but Stiles wouldn’t hear any of it.

 That’s how he ended up wrapped up in a blanket, sitting on the doorstep of the McCall’s house’s porch.

 Scott was dozing off, sitting more on him than on the step.

His friend had tried soothing him with his Nintendo DS, offered chocolate from his secret stash, and even tried petting his hair, but Stiles had ignored him. So now Scott was just kind of clinging to him like a giant octopus. It wasn’t very comforting as Scott’s elbow was in his stomach, but other things felt worse right now, so Stiles was clinging just as tightly to his friend.

 He was looking at the road, waiting for his dad’s car to appear, trying to make it appear by sheer will alone, when a sound made him jump. At first, it felt like it was coming from afar, but then it got louder and louder, until the sound seemed to be coming from everywhere at the same time.

 A howl.

 It sounded like one of those wolf howls in the movies, but it wasn’t as scary. It wasn’t scary at all, but rather heartbreaking. Somehow, that howl resonated in him. For a second, it felt like he could understand what this sound was trying to communicate.

 Despair.

 It was rough, like the wolf didn’t have enough breath to hold the sound and was going to break out coughing at any second. It reminded Stiles of his father’s voice on the phone and he tightened his hold on the blanket they were wrapped in, putting a hand on Scott’s sleeping head, and shivered.

 He looked at the sky, closed his eyes and imagined screaming like that.

Would it make him feel better? If he were to scream his emotions like that, would they disappear in thin air – bleed out of him and never come back? Was this what this wolf was trying to do?

He wiped a tear from his cheek and imagined himself howling with the wolf.

 When the sound died down, Stiles felt strangely alone.

 *******************

 

The first few weeks following the death of his mother were the worst of his life.

 His mother was dead, another victim in the Hale house fire, a fire that had claimed nine lives.

 The fire wasn’t an accident, someone purposely burnt this house down with all those people in it, someone _killed_ his mother and eight members of that family. By the time the firemen had arrived at the burning house, deep in the forest, they could only save one person. And that person wasn’t his mother.

 The thing was, nobody knew what she was doing out there, not even Stiles’ dad. 

Some people had decided that she was the odd one out, that her presence there was suspicious. The Hales themselves were a mystery, they always kept to themselves and while they were never viewed as bad people, they sure as hell didn’t fit the Beacon Hills’ mold.

People were suspicious and curious so instead of respecting the Stilinski family loss, the people of Beacon Hills focused on gossiping about the circumstances surrounding her death. And apparently Stiles was viewed as a prime source of this gossip. People either pitied him or seemed intrigued. It wasn’t always obvious, of course. They would offer their condolences, ask him how he was, and only then would they start their not-so-subtle interrogation on Lisa’s reason for being at that house, on that day.

 The sheriff refused to entertain the possibility that his wife was responsible for the fire, which only made people more suspicious. They all thought he was trying to cover up the truth.

His wife was dead and he had no idea why. It didn’t bode well for a sheriff to have his wife at the center of the biggest criminal case Beacon Hills had ever seen.

 The sheriff wasn’t doing so well. He was relentless in his pursuit of the truth, in his search of a culprit. He uncovered all the information he could on the Hale family, interrogated everyone that spoke to any of the victims or had even passed them in the street. He barely ate and only slept when he passed out due to extreme fatigue or too much whisky. He was obsessed. He was determined to find out what happened and nothing was going to stop him.

 Or at least, that was what Stiles thought. He thought it would be his life now, watching his father destroying himself in search of an answer, and missing his mom.

 Until Kate Argent.

 It was late one night; Stiles had already gone to bed when he was awoken by voices. He slipped out of bed and crept towards the staircase. He remembers how cold the ground was under his bare feet, how chilly the mid-December air was, even in the house.

He could hear his dad’s voice. He sound tired and upset, but he was using his sheriff voice, the one he sometimes used on Stiles when he had to clean up his room or had forgotten to close the refrigerator door. A female voice answered him and Stiles tiptoed down the stairs until he could hear what was being said without being seen.

 He craned his neck to try and identify who the woman was. His father was standing in the kitchen, running a hand through his hair, and pacing. He looked mad, and upset. There was a blonde woman sitting at the kitchen table. She looked young, in her early twenties. She was dressed all in black and was asking Stiles’s dad to sit. There were two men flanking the woman in the chair. They looked like robbers in a movie, tense, all in dark clothes, with winter hats and boots.

 Stiles was suddenly feeling really nervous. Those people didn’t look very friendly and his dad looked edgy.

 “Please, Sheriff Stilinski, sit down,” It was phrased like a request, but Stiles could sense that the woman was used to giving orders.

 His dad ignored her, turning his back on her and leaning against the kitchen counter. He took a deep breath as if to calm himself before running his hand down his face, and turning around. He looked pissed off and incredulous.

 “You come to my house and tell me…,” he stopped for a second and wiped his mouth again. “You tell me that my wife was killed by…by monsters…out of some damn fantasy book. And you want me to just sit down and accept it?”

 “No, I want you to sit down and let me explain it to you,” she answered calmly.

 His father gave a pointed look to the two men behind the women. She waved her hand and the two men left the kitchen. Stiles ducked, hoping they wouldn’t see him as they went out the front door. They didn’t leave, but waited on the doorstep, with the door open, so they could also eavesdrop on the conversation in the kitchen

 When he turned his attention back toward the kitchen, his dad was sitting in front of the woman and she had started talking.

 “…by the time we got there, it was, sadly, too late.”

 “This doesn’t make sense. Why would they kidnap my wife?”

 “They are animals, Sheriff. You shouldn’t try to find a reason for their actions. Once we discovered what they had done, we decided it was time to act.”

 His dad laughed bitterly and put his head in his hands.

 “Time? You obviously knew these monsters were living here, that they were a danger to this community and you decided to what? Wait until they killed someone to act?”

 “We have a code. We don’t kill if they don’t…”

 “Your damn code cost my wife her life!” his father raged, standing up, and leaning toward the woman.

 “I can’t tell you how much I regret it, Sheriff Stilinski. It wasn’t meant to happen. But you have to understand that we did everything we could to try and save your wife. As soon as we learned that the pack had taken a human…”

 “I don’t…,” the sheriff interrupted her. “You burned down a whole house. There were children in there.”

 “Werewolves. Believe me, no one in that house was innocent.”

 “My wife was,” he told her with conviction.

 “And she has been avenged.”

 The sheriff scrutinized her for a minute.

 “Why are you telling me this?”

 “Excuse-me?” the woman seemed surprised.

 “You said your family has been hunting wer…those monsters for centuries, but it seems like it’s a well-kept secret. So why are you telling me this, now?”

 The woman looked contrite.

 “You want me to stop my investigation,” Stiles’s dad realized.

 “As you have understood, the existence of werewolves is a fact that should be kept secret. You’re a very good investigator, Sheriff. We’ve realized that the best way to keep this matter discreet would be to tell you the truth. You deserve to know the truth about your wife’s death,” she adds.

 “It won’t be that easy. The investigation won’t stop just because I decide so. And I won’t decide to stop investigating just because you come to me with some fairytale about werewolves and hunters.”

 “It is no fairytale, Sheriff, believe me. We will offer you proof if you need it. And we wouldn’t dare ask you to risk your career, of course. As far as the fire department is concerned, some new information in the course of their investigation will lead them to rule out arson. They will determine that the fire was an accident due to faulty wiring.”

 “What about my wife?”

 “She won’t be a person of interest in the investigation. In a few weeks, nobody will be wondering at her presence there anymore.”

 Stiles’s father closed his eyes for a second.

 “You know the truth, Sheriff Stilinski. This is your chance to offer closure for your family, for your son. Your wife’s death was a horrible tragedy; those who were responsible have already paid for…”

 “What about the survivors? Did you…did you killed those kids too? The two who disappeared after the fire?”

 “I can assure you that they will be taken care of.”

 “They’re just…they’re just kids. Only a few years older than my son…,” his father was stopped by the woman, placing a hand on one of his and fixing him in the eyes.

 “They’re not kids, Sheriff. They are monsters. Look at what happens when we try to treat them as human.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**SIX YEARS LATER**

 Stiles cringes when he loses his footing on some mud and nearly falls over. He groans when he feels the mud seeping into his shoes and socks, soaking his right foot.

 “It should be around here somewhere,” Scott announces.

 “You said that half a mile ago.”

 “And _whose_ brilliant idea was it to go into the woods in the middle of the night?”

 “Dude, half a body! It was supposed to be a cool, if slightly scary, experience. But as usual, all I got was two weeks of dish duty and cold socks. This blows. Why must things suck so much?” Stiles sighs. “How did you even lose your inhaler, anyway? Do your pockets have holes or something? We were here for like three minutes before my dad caught us.”

 “Stop whining and start looking,” Scott says with a glare.

 Admittedly, Stiles is whining a lot, but damn it, it’s freezing and the humidity is off the charts. He hates humidity. He loathes it. At least, it doesn’t affect his hair, but Scott looks ridiculous right now. Well, Scott always looks ridiculous…it’s Scott. But the humidity makes his hair so curly he looks like a poodle, and the fact that he’s currently pawing at the ground, in search of his inhaler, only complements this mental image.

 “I swear we were right here last night.” Scott was two minutes away from pitching a fit. And he had already checked under that rock _twice_.

 “Can’t you just buy another one?”

 “Are you kidding? It’s like eighty bucks or something!”

 “Well, here’s an idea for next time: don’t lose it”

 Scott turns abruptly toward him ready to counter that suggestion with some colorful language, but he stops suddenly, his mouth open and his eyes big and round. His gaze focuses on a point beyond Stiles’ shoulder.

 “What are you doing here? Huh?” Comes an unknown voice.

 Stiles jumps in the air, and he will forever deny that he grabbed Scott’s shirt for dear life. He turns around and feels his heart jump in his chest. It only takes him a second to recognize that face. He has a photo of that face in a book next to his bed.

 It’s a face he has been looking at for four years now to remind him that the world isn’t a safe place, to remind him that monsters exist. They exist and they destroyed his life. They exist and he refuses to just accept it and move on. He doesn’t want to be the kind of person that just accepts it and continues living their life like nothing has changed. He can’t. They destroyed his life, his dad’s life, his mom’s, and so many others. He refuses to just sit there and take it.

 Stiles had decided years ago that he was going to become a hunter.

 He was twelve when he found his father’s file on the Hales. Two weeks and a few e-mails to Kate Argent later, he discovered that she still hadn’t found Laura Hale and her little brother. He’d stolen the picture from his dad’s file and kept it next to his bed ever since. He would look at it when he woke up in the middle of night with images of fire and claws lingering in his mind, or when the weight on his chest would become so heavy that he couldn’t remember how to breathe.

It reminds him that there are monsters out there, and those monsters aren’t anonymous and they aren’t invincible. The kids in that picture are only a few years older than he is. They don’t look scary. It should have terrorized him that monsters looked like him, but it comforted him instead. They weren’t ugly and enormous, or insurmountable. They looked like something he could beat. They looked like something he could kill.

 “This is private property.”

 Derek Hale doesn’t look like the kid in the picture anymore. His heart is beating fast in his chest, but Stiles swallows and forces himself to look right at him, to not be scared of the monster that lurks behind this underwear model exterior. (He may hate the guy but he still has eyes, okay? That’s a totally legitimate observation). 

 “Sorry, we were just looking for something but…” Scott responds hesitantly.

 Scott slaps him on the side and Stiles blinks, realizing that he was staring a little too much. He has to play it cool. It’s not like he can take this monster out right now. No chance in hell. And Scott would probably freak out if he starts attacking strangers for no reason. And how the hell do you even attack someone anyway? He’s not stupid nor does he have a death wish, thank you very much. He forces himself to stop glaring and looks at the ground instead, running his hand over his shaved head trying to appear casual and contrite.  

 “Yeah, sorry, man, we didn’t know. We’ll just…” Stiles pauses, wary, when he sees the man reach for something in his pocket. Derek throws something at Scott and Stiles exhales in relief when he sees that it’s just his inhaler. Of course, it was. What did he think it was, a grenade? He has to calm down for god’s sake. It’s just a werewolf. In the woods. Alone with them. With no one around to…

 “Are you okay?”

 Stiles snaps out of his private freak out session when he realizes that Derek Hale is walking away. Oh, so no maiming today. That’s good news!

 “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Scott observes.

 “Dude, that was Derek Hale!” He can’t help exclaiming.

 When he sees the blank look on Scott’s face, he bites his lip. Of course Scott doesn’t know who he is or what he is. Stiles and his father had never told anyone. How could they? Who would have believed them? It would have cost the Sheriff his career as well as his credibility. As for Stiles, Scott may tolerate a lot of his eccentricities, but he couldn’t endanger their friendship by starting to talk about how supernatural monsters killed his mom. He looks crazy enough as it is.

 “Um. His family they…”

 “Oh shit, Stiles, _that_ Hale? Sorry, I didn’t realize!”

 Oh right, Scott may not know about werewolves, but he does know that his mother died in the same fire that decimated the Hale family.

 “Do you, like, know him?”

 “No. I just saw a picture once.”

 Well, at least that was true. He has no idea what kind of man Derek Hale is. But, then again, he isn’t a man, is he?

 “Look at what happens when we try to treat them as human,” Kate Argent still whispers from some corner of his mind.

 

********************

 Stiles reties the laces of his boots for the third time and makes sure he tucks his black jeans into his boots. Maybe he has gone a little over the top with the whole black ops outfit? But, it was what those guys with Kate Argent had been wearing that night six years ago, so it must be the werewolf hunter official uniform. So what if these boots make his feet look enormous? If he wants to convince Kate Argent he can be a hunter, he has to dress the part.

 God knows how he did it, but Scott has a date with the new girl, Allison, tonight and Stiles had managed to get the address of the Argents out of him. It’s been two days since the Argents have been back in Beacon Hills. He thought they had come back to hunt Derek, but the werewolf is still out there and they haven’t done shit about it. Stiles is not a patient person and he’s decided to go ask them what the hell they thought they were doing. It’s one werewolf; it shouldn’t be that hard to kill! Then again, Peter Hale has been a vegetable for years and they haven’t done anything about him either.

 Stiles wants answers.

 And if he can convince them to recruit him, that’s just a bonus. He’s wanted to start his training as a hunter for years, but Kate Argent doesn’t answer his e-mails anymore and he’s had no other way to contact the Argents. Until now.

 He takes a deep breath and knocks. He’s fidgeting with the sleeves of his black shirt when the door opens, revealing a stranger.

 “Hi,” Stiles says hesitantly. Maybe he should have focused on his speech instead of his outfit.

 “Good evening…” the man answers and then pauses, looking at him from head to toe with a raised eyebrow. “Allison left half an hour ago.”

 “I’m not here for her. I’m here for you,” The eyebrow rises higher. “I mean not to…I don’t want to date you, sir.” The man’s eyes get rounder. “Not that Allison is on a date. Or is she? I don’t know anything about it!”

 Did he just salute the man? Oh hell.

He closes his eyes for a second and wishes to go back in time, to just before he knocked on that door and made a total fool of himself.

Yeah, like he wouldn’t do it all over again anyway...

 “I want to be a hunter!” He blurts out without meaning to. “Sir.”

 The man’s face, which was amused, becomes instantly serious. He scrutinizes him for a few seconds. “Why don’t you come in?” The man takes a look around before stepping back to let Stiles come in.

 He guides Stiles to the living room, and gestures for him to sit on the couch. The man sits down in the accompanying armchair.

 “I’m Chris, Allison’s dad. What is your name, son?”

 “Stiles.”

 “That’s not a name, that’s a nickname,” Mr. Argent points out.

 “That’s what people call me.”

 Mr. Argent - no way is he calling this guy Chris, he looks even more intimidating that his dad - just keeps looking at him, waiting, and Stiles relents.

 “Stilinski. Stiles Stilinski.”

 The man looks like he wants to correct him again, but he shakes his head, like he remembers something.

 “Oh, so _you’re_ the infamous Stalker Stilinski,” he chuckles like it’s a private joke. “My sister told me about you.”

 Stalker Stilinski? What the hell? He’s not a stalker! He just likes to be informed. And have regular updates. If people don’t answer him, what choice does he have but to keep asking them? That’s how a conversation works.

 “Well, I wouldn’t put a lot of weight in what she says since she _told_ me that she would kill Derek Hale years ago.”

 The glare the man sends him makes him immediately regret his words. Maybe the offensive isn’t the best strategy in this situation. But cowering isn’t going to help his cause either, so Stiles continues to look straight into the hunter’s eyes.

 “Listen, _Stiles_. This is an adult matter. So I advise you to focus on your homework and let us handle this. Okay?”

 “No. You had years to act and you couldn’t even find him! Now he comes parading back right under your noses, right under _my_ nose, and you can’t even do anything about it.”

 “Sit. Down,” Mr. Argent says pointedly. Stiles hadn’t even realized he had stood up during his little tirade. He sits down, intimidated, despite his best efforts, by the man’s authority. “I know your story with the Hales. You may think that we can just kill willy-nilly, but that isn’t how it works. There is no proof that Derek Hale had anything to do with your mother’s death.” Stiles can feel himself getting angry from just hearing Chris mention his mother. The hunter seems to sense it. “I can assure you we’ll do what needs to be done if Derek or any other werewolf were to even think about doing anything like that to someone. But we can’t just kill people like this, this isn’t how…”

 “But they aren’t _people_! It’s your hesitating that caused-” Stiles exclaims.

 “Stop. Right there,” the man orders, before he continues speaking, but more calmly. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, kid. You think you do, but I can assure you that you don’t. You had your revenge; _we gave you_ your revenge years ago. Now, it’s time to let it go.” 

 “No. It’s not. And you don’t know anything about me,” he insists.

 The hunter sighs before leaning towards him a little. Stiles tamps down his urge to back away.

 “You want to become a hunter?” The man asks and Stiles nods. “How old are you?”

 “Sixteen.”

 “You’re in high school with my daughter, aren’t you? Earlier, you said you knew her?”

 “I…I spoke to her. Like, once.”

 “She doesn’t know about this, about what we do. But she will. Two years from now, when she turns eighteen, I will tell her everything and give her the choice. If she wants to become a hunter, I’ll train her.”

 Stiles perks up at the mention of training and the man notices.

 “If you still want to be a hunter by then, you come see me, and I’ll train you too.”

 “What? No! I don’t want to wait two ye-”

 “You’re sixteen. You’re a _child_. I’m pretty sure your father would agree with me,” he pauses for a second, waiting for Stiles to back down. Seeing that Stiles isn’t intimidated, he continues, “But hey, you want me to call him to check? He’s the Sheriff, right?”

 Any righteousness that Stiles has deflates, and he glares at Chris, defeated. His dad would kill him if he knew that Stiles had come here tonight…and that he’s been pestering Kate Argent for years now…and that he’s seen Derek Hale. Okay, point to Mr. Argent for his cunning strategy, but that is _so_ cheating.

 “That’s what I thought,” the man concludes. “When you’re eighteen, if you still want to start training, you come see me and I promise you we’ll give it a try. Until then, you stay out of the way. You stay away from me, you stay away from my sister, and you stay the hell away from Derek Hale. Is that clear?”

 The look Mr. Argent gives him is piercing and intimidating, but Stiles tries to maintain eye contact.

But damn, this man is badass.

 “You will take care of Derek?” He tries.

 “If it’s needed, we will.”

 “That’s not-” Stiles starts protesting again.

 “It _is_. Now, go. I’ve heard there is a party. Go and have fun with your friends. Your _high school_ friends.”

 Stiles would sulk if he didn’t think it would prove Mr. Argent’s point. As it is, he just shuts up and leaves.

 This didn’t go the way Stiles had planned _at all_. Well, maybe if he had planned it a little better…Oh sue him, he has ADHD, okay? Planning ahead isn’t exactly one of his strong suits. Still, he can’t believe he won’t become a bad ass werewolf hunter because he is scared of _his dad_. Huh. So much for badassery.

  

*************************

 “What’s up with you?”

 Stiles stops worrying at the net of his lacrosse stick, and glances toward Scott, who is accompanying him on the bench.

 “Nothing.”

 “You’re sulking.”

 “Am not!” He asserts, but then sighs when Jackson scores and everyone cheers. “It’s just…why are we even here?”

 “Here…on earth?” Scott asks, grimacing.

 “No, _here_ here. Sitting on this bench doing nothing. I’m tired of doing nothing!” He finishes, frustrated.

 He heard - okay, maybe ‘eavesdropped on’ is the more appropriate term here, but still - his father talking about the body they found in the woods - well, half of the body, the other one was still missing. A body doesn’t get cut in two by accident. This girl had been murdered. And the _very_ next day, Derek Hale appeared on the scene? This was no coincidence. He _has_ been patient, he _has_ been waiting for the Argents to act for three days, but they weren’t doing _anything_. Derek killed this girl. Stiles was sure of it. But nobody seems to care. What were they waiting for? Derek was going to kill again and not being able to do anything was killing him. Being here, sitting on this damn bench watching his friends playing lacrosse was just too much. How was he supposed to become a hunter when he couldn’t even pass a stupid lacrosse try out?

 “Are you…thinking of dropping lacrosse?” The way Scott says it, it sounds like Stiles wants to decapitate a cat.

 “No. Maybe. I don’t know. I just…want to do something you know? I’m tired of being on the sidelines.”

 “Then _do_ something.”

 Stiles turns toward his friend, surprised.

 “Yeah, because that’s so easy!”

 “I don’t know, maybe it is,” Scott adds, shrugging. “Look at me and Allison.”

 And here it comes. Scott hadn’t talked about Allison for at least two minutes, Stiles was getting worried.

 “I would never have thought that I would go out with someone so amazing, and yet…” He turns around and waves at his girlfriend, pointing her out in the crowd when she waves back. As if Stiles could have forgotten that she was there when Scott couldn’t stop marveling about how the sun reflects in her hair and makes her eyes shine - or was it shine in her hair and reflect in her eyes? Stiles had stopped listening to Scott’s shitty poetry half an hour ago.

 “Yeah, congrats on that, man. Again.”

 “I’m just saying, if you want to do something, then do it. And if you can’t, try harder. And if you still can’t, do something else.”

 “Having a girlfriend doesn’t make you Yoda material, you know.”

 Scott pouts. Stiles is thankful that his best friend couldn’t hold a grudge if his life depended on it, because he is right, Stiles is being a sulking ass these days.

 “Maybe you’re right,” he concedes. Scott smiles goofily.

 “I think I have a recorder app on my phone, can you repeat that?”

 “Shut up,” Stiles teases, bumping his shoulder against his friend’s.

 But what if Scott is right? (And isn’t that a sign that the world is going to end?)

Maybe he should stop sulking and blaming the Argents for doing nothing and actually _do_ something himself. Maybe he can’t go after Derek, but he can prove to the Argents that the werewolf is guilty. It would leave them no other choice than to go after him. If it’s proof that they want, maybe he could find it.

 Oh geez, he was going to get frozen toes again, wasn’t he?

 Because his best chance to prove that Derek Hale was responsible for the murder was to find the other half of the body. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

As it turns out, frozen toes should have been the least of his worries. Vomiting in the bushes is way worse. 

He had quickly decided that if the whole police department hadn’t found the missing half of the body, he miraculously wasn’t going to find it himself by wandering aimlessly in the woods. But unlike the police, he actually knew what was going on; he knew who killed this poor girl. 

So that’s how he ended up on the Hale property with a shovel. 

What he’d neglected to think about was how gross a rotting corpse is. And the fact that there was only half, did absolutely nothing to lessen the gross factor. And the smell, oh god the smell. 

He had tucked the flower that magically transformed the body from a girl to a wolf in his backpack, but now he’s left standing around this makeshift grave. 

So he found the body. Great. 

Now what is he supposed to do with it? 

Thinking ahead, jeez, he should really learn to do that one of these days. 

The only thing he can think of is to call his dad. But then he might as well just take this shovel and start digging his own grave. But damn it, he found the body and he isn’t going to make an anonymous call and lose his chance to prove himself to the Argents. 

On the other hand, Derek Hale could come back any minute now and eat him. Like, literally. So yeah, dad it is. 

*******************

What was even worse than his dad’s anger was the look on his face when he realised that Derek Hale was back in town. 

Stiles watches his dad handcuff Derek. His face is so tense that it looks like it is carved out stone, but it’s an expression that no sane person would want to immortalize. The sheriff puts Derek in the patrol car and then returns to his deputy’s side to inspect the grave. 

Stiles can’t resist, it’s his chance to be face to face with the monster, to confront his fear. He gets in the passenger side of the police car. 

And somehow Derek Hale is even more intimidating up close. It doesn’t even matter that he’s also handcuffed and in the back of a patrol car. At the same time, he manages to exude this rugged handsomeness, but in a psychotic way. If there is such a thing as psychotically sexy. 

“Just so you know, I’m not afraid of you.”

Derek’s glare intensifies and okay, that is one scary look. Forget psychotically sexy, his penis has officially retreated to higher ground. Teenage Libido Inc. is officially closed for business. 

“Okay. Maybe I am,” he admits. “Only because I know what you are, and what you did to that girl. But you made a monumental mistake. Because now you’re screwed, buddy. If the law doesn’t get your ass, the hunters will.”

“Why. Do you. Care.”

Wow, apparently this guy missed the whole grammar lesson on punctuation.

“About people dying? Because, unlike you, I’m human.”

“She wasn’t,” Derek gestures with a nod toward the grave as a squeamish deputy and the coroner tentatively extract the body. The werewolf frowns for a second, swallows, and then averts his gaze from the gruesome sight. Stiles narrows his eyes, surprised by his reaction. He’s further caught off guard as Derek lunges forward, he’s suddenly right there and Stiles realizes there’s only some metal mesh and a few inches separating them. Stiles violently recoils and hits his head against the windshield. 

“Who are you.”

Again with the punctuation, man, this guy doesn’t even know how to talk like a human being, does he?  
Before Stiles can answer though, the passenger door opens, a hand grabs his arm and he’s hauled out of the car. 

Here comes more trouble. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The Sheriff asks him, ignoring Stiles stumbling as he lets him go. 

“I’m trying to help!” 

“Really? So how about you help me understand exactly how you came across this body?”

“I…was looking for Scott’s inhaler,” Stiles explains, rubbing the spot on his head that had collided with the windshield

“Alone. In the woods. Near this house…,” the Sheriff gestures widely before closing his eyes and letting his arm drop. “Stiles, don’t lie to me. Please.”

“I’m not.”

He was looking for Scott’s inhaler when he saw Derek for the first time and all this began, all right? So that’s totally not a lie. Technically. 

“And what were you doing just now?” His dad says, nodding towards the patrol car. 

“I…I needed to see one. For real. Up close.”

“Do you want to get ripped to shreds? Is that it? You have a death wish I don’t know about?”

“What? No! I just…He’s a Hale, dad.”

“And if it turns out that he killed that girl...”

“If?! He buried her in his garden!” 

“Which isn’t his garden anymore. He moved out years ago and since neither he nor his sister claimed it, the house is the state’s property now.”

“So he’s going to get out on a technicality?!” Stiles panics. 

“Calm down. That’s not what I’m saying. But, Stiles, I can hold him and question him, but if there’s no proof I can’t do much more than that.”

“But…you know what he is!”

His father puts a hand on his arm, nodding toward the officers a few feet away. 

“This is not up for discussion, son. I’ll investigate, but I can’t put an innocent man in jail.”

“Yeah. Innocent,” Stiles scoffs as his dad pats him on the arm.

“Go home. You’ve got a big game tonight. And that is the only reason you’re not grounded starting right now, by the way.”

“Yeah, because the bench will surely miss me.”

“Hey, you never know, maybe Finstock will let you play! Either way, I’ll be there supporting you, okay?”

Stiles nods. 

“Oh, and Stiles?” the Sheriff adds just as Stiles begins to turn away. “After the game, we’ll talk about the conditions of your grounding. In detail.”

******************

As soon as Scott sees him in the changing room, he stops him. 

“Hey! Is it true? Did you find the other half of the body? Why didn’t you ask me to come with you?”

Stiles knows from experience that Scott wants to hear the gory details rather than scold him. 

“Believe me, you didn’t miss anything, bro. Dead bodies are gross,” Stiles grimaces and flails his arms imitating the Thriller zombies. 

“Still, you found it, that’s cool!”

Stiles shrugs and points to Scott’s eyebrow, which has a cut that wasn’t there before. “What happened to you?”

“Oh, Allison’s dad ran me over with his car.”

“He what?!” 

“It was an accident… I think. But now he’s coming to the game, which sucks. It’s way cooler to tell your girlfriend’s dad that you’re on the lacrosse team rather than him actively witnessing your bench-warming skills,” Scott laments. 

“Tell me about it. My dad still thinks Finstock is going to let me play.”

“Maybe he will?”

“Yeah, right.”

They both laugh and finish getting ready. 

 

*********************

It’s only when he arrives on the field and sees Mr. Argent looking right at him that he realizes that maybe he also has to worry about the guy’s judgement.   
If Scott’s heard the gossip, then the hunter must also know how he spent his afternoon. He tries to muster his most innocent expression for the adult and gets a glare in return.   
Yep, he’s definitely screwed. Again. But hey, the Argents wanted proof, Stiles got them proof. 

“Oh my god, did you see how he just glared at me?” Scott panics next to him. 

Stiles pats him on the back as they sit on the bench. 

“Maybe it’s not a glare. Maybe it’s like an encouraging stare?”

Scott looks at him dubiously. 

“Just trying to do my job as best friend here!”

“Hey, kid,” His dad appears over his shoulder. “So, do you think you’re going to see any action tonight?”

Stiles can’t help but throw a glance in the direction of Mr. Argent and pales when he sees him walking toward them. 

“Action? Maybe,” he grimaces. 

“Scott!” Mr. Argent waves as he approaches. “You’re going to play tonight?”

“Um, no. Not tonight, I’m afraid,” Scott says, pretending it’s an unusual occurrence. 

Luckily for Scott, the hunter pays no mind to him, having already switched his attention towards Stiles’ dad.

“Sheriff Stilinski, isn’t it? I’m Chris Argent, Allison’s dad.”

It must seem like an innocent exchange to Scott, but the looks that Chris and the Sherriff exchange speak volumes as they seemingly acknowledge the situation. 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Argent.”

“Oh, call me Chris, please.”

Oh god, they’re already on a first name basis, Stiles is so dead. He’s trying to concentrate on the beginning of the game, when his dad claps a firm hand on his shoulder. Crap, he had hoped they would forget he was here. 

“This is my son, Stiles.”

Quick, diversion, he needs a diversion. 

“Hey dad, did you know Scott is dating Allison?”

The look Scott sends him is utter betrayal meets gaping fish. To be fair, he did just throw his best friend in the line of fire. He will probably burn in best friend hell for that. But hey, Scott always talks about how he wants to be first in line, right? Yeah, no, definitely Hell. 

“Oh he…is?” The Sheriff sound a little lost, but catches the evil look that Mr. Argent is giving Scott. “I should um…go back to my seat. It was nice meeting you, Chris.”

“You too, Sheriff. But you know what? Why don’t you come sit with my daughter and me? I know absolutely nothing about lacrosse and could use some help deciphering the game.”

The pointed look the hunter gives Stiles is very clear. Apparently no one is buying his bullshit. Good to know. He’s going to be made to suffer for the rest of his life, before he goes to Hell then. 

This fact is supported when Scott punches him in the ribs as soon as the adults are gone. 

“Deserved that,” Stiles says with a cringe, holding his side. 

**********************

When the game ends, he goes to find his dad and is relieved to see that Chris Argent is not with him. He’s way less relieved when he sees the look the Sheriff gives him. His dad takes him by his arm and guides him purposefully away from the crowd for a little privacy. Stiles rubs his gloved hands nervously. What if Mr. Argent told him everything about Stiles wanting to become a hunter? He opens his mouth to apologize, but his dad cuts him off. 

“I’m sorry, Stiles.”

Wait, wasn’t that his line? 

His dad rubs his mouth for a few seconds. “The medical examiner just called me. He’s confident that an animal, not a human, inflicted the wounds that resulted in the woman’s death. Which means that I can’t keep Derek locked up.”

“What? But, dad, you know it’s him! You know he kil…”

“I’m not so sure, Stiles. They’ve also identified the victim. It was Laura Hale.”

“Derek’s sister?” Well, he wasn’t expecting that. Why would Derek kill his own sister? Why would he leave her body in the woods and then go back to bury her? “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Derek says he was in New York at the time of the murder. And his alibi checks out.”

Stiles' chest suddenly feels tight and he clenches his fist trying to focus on the sensation of his nails biting into his palm. 

He doesn’t know what’s more scary: the fact that Derek is now free and probably knows who he is, or that there is another monster out there. An unknown one.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested, I have a tumblr under the same name. It's not much, mostly gifs of Tyler Hoechlin, sterek and destiel, but I rec a lot of fics too so...In any case, I hope you're all having a good read ;-)

 For the next few days, Stiles tries to forget about werewolves and hunters.

 This doesn’t mean he isn’t watching his back though.

He doesn’t know if werewolves are spiteful, but if someone were to dig up his dead sister, call the cops on him, and _then_ taunt him about his failures, he wouldn’t take it very well. Plus, there is still supposedly yet another monster out there. So yeah, Stiles is man enough to admit it: he’s scared that the big bad wolf’s retaliation is coming.

 But then three days pass and nothing happens.

 Just when Stiles is thinking that maybe it’s going to be okay, he arrives at school and the police are swarming the place. Surrounding what looks to be an abandoned school bus. A very _bloody_ abandoned school bus.

His father is already here talking with the paramedics, who are standing there rather aimlessly, their stretcher empty. So it doesn’t appear as if there’s a victim… or at least a victim needing medical attention but with that much blood, there’s definitely a dead body lying around somewhere…. Unless the beast ate it. Oh god, there is an actual possibility that the school bus driver was eaten by a werewolf. How is this his life?

 Stiles hasn’t even taken a step in the direction of the crime scene when the Sheriff stops him in his tracks with a brusque gesture and his patented  ‘take-no-bullshit’ look,  and then points Stiles back toward the school. For once, Stiles is glad that his dad is giving him an excuse not to indulge his curiosity. Because seriously, there’s blood everywhere and he doesn’t actually feel like getting any closer to _that_.  

 

*******************

 Stiles is in Biology class, trying to pay attention to Mr. Harris’ lesson when something outside catches his eye. He turns his head and feels his blood run cold. Derek Hale is standing outside. He’s far enough that Stiles has to squint to recognize him, but that’s definitely the werewolf looking right at him.

 Shit. Double shit.

 He jumps four feet in the air when a girl in class abruptly gets up, screaming about the police finding something. He follows the rest of the class to the window, and there is indeed a body on the stretcher.

Well, at least the guy wasn’t eaten? And he doesn’t seem to be missing any body parts.

 Stiles winces when the body sits up and everyone around him screams. He’s not dead. The bus driver isn’t dead. Thank god.

 While he goes back to his seat under Harris’s sarcastic reprimands, Stiles can’t help but frown.

Why isn’t the guy dead? What’s the point of attacking someone if you’re not going to eat them or at least kill them? Do werewolves just get a kick out of a mild maiming?

The more he thinks about it, the less random this attack seems. Why _this_ guy, in _this_ bus? There are tons of people wandering alone the woods or town at night. Why would a werewolf wait for the end of this guy’s shift and attack him inside his own damn bus? Shouldn’t werewolves be kind of like dogs and enjoy the chase a little? It doesn’t make any sense.

 He turns toward the direction he saw Derek, but he isn’t there anymore.

It can’t be a coincidence that Hale was there at that exact moment, looking right at _him_ , when they found _his_ bus driver. Oh god, what if it was a message? A “you’re next” type of psycho thing. Yeah, it might be a little egocentric to think so, but he can see Derek doing that. He totally has that psychopath vibe going on. He would attack an innocent person just to make Stiles piss his pants, Stiles is sure of it.

 Well, his pants are clean, thank you very much. And if Derek wants to fight, Stiles can fight.

 Well…He’s sure he can find some way to retaliate.

 Maybe?

 Probably.

 As soon as he gets home, he opens up his internet bookmarks. He grimaces when he sees them. He’s been searching and bookmarking everything he could find on werewolves for four years now so… basically his bookmarks are a mess. And he has more than two hundred of them. With Kate Argent ignoring him, he never really had any way to tell which websites were legit.

 Hell, he isn’t even sure of what an actual werewolf looks like.

 Are they the Twilight whole _wolf-form_ , or just really hairy like in An American Werewolf in London? Do they lose control when they change, like in Supernatural, or are they totally conscious of what they’re doing? Do they only change on the full moon? What powers do they have? Do they even have powers or do they just get a little more hairy and wild? Does silver even have a negative effect on them?

 He feels like he’s been preparing to become a hunter for a long time and yet he is so _not_ ready. How the hell is he supposed to separate the true from the false? The legit from the trash?

 He ends up spending a good part of the night organizing his bookmarks, and erasing every webpage that seems to take their information from pop culture or video games.

 By 3:00am, he’s isolated forty-three links that seem kind of legit. What seems to be the recurring theme is that it’s very difficult for werewolves to control themselves on the full moon (if not impossible). Instincts seem to take control, and that is why they’re the most dangerous on that night.

 The thing is, the full moon is only in two days.

 

*************************

 “Stiles!”

 Stiles runs downstairs, missing the last step and free falling until he catches the kitchen counter.

 His father doesn’t even seem to notice his flailing and general clumsiness anymore. Or maybe it’s because his head is deep within the confines of the fridge.

When he turns towards his son, he looks like someone’s killed his puppy.

 “Where are the steaks?”

 “What steaks?” Stiles asks innocently.

 “Yesterday, there were two T-bones in that fridge. I fired up the grill, but I can’t find them anymore. Where are the steaks, Stiles?” Okay, now he’s starting to look a little upset.

 “Oh. _Those_ steaks. They…huh… weren’t for us.”

 He can’t exactly tell his father that one is hanging from a tree in the forest and the other is in a cage, waiting for one of the beasts to come taste it and activate the cage’s mechanism, trapping the werewolf inside.

It’s the full moon tonight and Stiles has decided to give it a shot. It should work on at least three different types of werewolves that the Internet had listed.

 “What do you mean ‘they weren’t for us’? They were in our fridge! Whom would they be for?”

 “Scott.” It’s been kind of his default excuse for everything since he was five. It rarely makes any sense, to be honest. Like now.

 “What were Scott’s steaks doing in our fridge?” He looks like he isn’t buying his bullshit and is losing his patience.

 Okay, think fast.

 “Because…his mom asked me to buy them for her.” Not bad, he can work with that. “I saw her yesterday and mentioned that I was going to the supermarket to buy milk. She had a craving for steaks but had to go to work, so she asked me if I could buy them for her?”

 The Sheriff looks suspiciously at him before checking the fridge.

 “There is no milk, Stiles.”

 Shit.

 “I…forgot? You know how I am!” This is his next best excuse. His father does know how distracted Stiles is, but he hates mentioning it - probably not wanting to hurt his feelings or something. So his dad is not going  to confirm it and hurt Stiles’ weak little heart, or deny it, because his father doesn’t know how to lie convincingly.

His glare does say a lot about what he thinks though. Until he realizes that means he definitely won’t get any red meat and the hurt puppy look makes a comeback.

 “But I have cravings too. And I fired up the grill…”

 Is his father pouting? Oh god.

 “It’s okay, dad. I got you some steak too!”

 Now he looks like a kid on Christmas morning. Stiles feels a tiny bit guilty. But he’s trying to save his father’s heart, okay? He’s the best son ever.

 “Here!” He gets a plastic bag out of the fridge and gives it to his dad. His father looks at it like it’s going to explode in his face.

 “This does _not_ look like a steak. Not even close.”

 “It’s stoek! It tastes like steak, but without all that red meat evilness.”

 “This is not a steak,” his dad repeats stubbornly almost to the point of desperation.

 “ _Stoek._ It’s awesome, you’ll see!”

 Stiles would admit, a few minutes later, that those tofu steaks don’t taste like normal steak at all. They taste like stale fish. But he’s still trying to save his dad’s health, so he smiles around every disgusting bite to encourage the Sheriff to eat.

 Best son _ever_.

 

**********************

 The next day, he isn’t very surprised to discover that his trap didn’t work. It was a long shot anyway. But he doesn’t consider it a useless endeavour because the steaks aren’t there anymore.

This means two things: 1. Werewolves do love red meat - which isn’t that useful, he’ll admit, but he’s trying to stay positive here, and 2. They are smart enough to recognize and deactivate a trap.

This must mean that they don’t actually become dumb savage beasts on the full moon. They must retain at least some of their human faculties and maybe even their control.

 It might be good information to have, but it’s not reassuring at all. Somehow, the idea of a man losing control and becoming a savage animal is more reassuring than that of a man changing into a beast and voluntarily hurting people.

He may be starting to understand that ‘ignorance is bliss’ saying. Because the more he learns, the scarier and more disturbing it become.

 Nobody ever said that Stiles wasn’t a masochist though.

 So he acknowledges that if he really wants to become a hunter, he needs to learn more about werewolves. The thing is, that leaves him only two choices: Argent or Hale.

 He does consider going to Chris Argent - he really does - but he’s 99.99% sure that the hunter will send him back on his way, maybe even with a reprimand and a call to his father. And, in the end, he will have to adopt plan B anyway.

 So, Derek Hale it is.

 This scares him shitless, but it’s not like he’s going to the abandoned house in the woods and ask to be educated. No, he needs to do it _hunter style_. A real hunter, not a werewolf hunter. Which means patience, observation, and a fairly good bit of stalking.

 But first, he starts by training his stalking skills on Danny…and his pestering ones, even though he is kind of already a master at that. He spends the next day following the other boy until Danny relents and agrees to help him. Everyone knows Danny is a computer geek at heart, and everyone who illegally looks at a few sealed police files knows that he is also a pretty good hacker. By the end of the day, he’s got an active GPS  system tracking Derek Hale’s phone, and a promise to never ever ever _ever_ follow Danny into the showers again.

 So, even though Danny never did tell him if he was attractive to gay men or not, Stiles counts it as a win.  

 

**********************

 Stiles isn’t a fool. He isn’t just going to go after Derek Hale without being prepared.

As a matter of fact, he’s bought a badass silver knife on Amazon (it was awkward enough buying a human sized cage, but he’s pretty sure if he goes back to the store to buy a knife, someone will call the Sheriff about his son’s weird hobbies). And after some lengthy research, he finally manages to purchase some wolfsbane from a guy he met on craigslist who swears he is a wizard and seems to have an irrational fear of rabbits (don’t even ask how Stiles discovered that).

 While waiting for those to be delivered, he starts to analyze Derek’s daily routine - which seems as non-existent as it is boring, by the way. The guy barely leaves the woods and that creepy house that Stiles prefers not to think about.

How can Derek even live there knowing that all the people he loved died there?

Stiles could never set foot in that place without having a panic attack. He’s always wished that it would get destroyed. It’s where his mother died and he hates the idea of kids thinking it’s haunted and hooligans vandalizing the place.

When his dad told him that Derek had finally taken legal possession of it, Stiles had hoped that it was because, like him, he wanted it gone. But it looks like the creepy dude just needed a creepy place to stay and thought the burned out remnants of his family house would be oh so cozy.

What a creep.

But, well, Stiles shouldn’t apply human thoughts to a supernatural monster to start with, right?

 The point is, Stiles is not going to go anywhere near that house again. Just being in the garden last week gave him the chills. Stiles hates that place. It was hard enough knowing his mom’s spirit would forever be in the same place as those of those monsters, but the idea of a living werewolf being in that place with her makes him want to find a sledge hammer and destroy the place single-handedly so that no one ever stepped foot into that house ever again.

So that maybe his mom can have at least a little peace.

 He starts wearing the knife in the waistband of his trousers (thank god it comes with a sheath) and keeping the wolfsbane powder in his pocket. He keeps checking the GPS tracker every hour waiting for Derek to finally come into town, hoping it will be after school hours.

 When it finally happens, Stiles runs to his jeep so fast that he bangs into the side of the car and nearly falls on his ass.

 He parks two blocks away from Derek’s position and starts walking in his direction, trying to appear casual and discreet at the same time – which is pretty damn hard, by the way.

He spots Derek getting out of a shop and freezes, searching for a place to hide. Thankfully, the werewolf is far enough away that he doesn’t notice him.

 Stiles soon discovers that it’s not easy following someone when everyone seems to decide to walk as far away from his target as possible – thus making Stiles’ side of the street extremely crowded. People look at Derek like he has a very contagious disease and seem to be trying to avoid him as much as possible.

Not that Derek tries to engage any of them; he mostly looks straight ahead, ignoring everything and everyone around him.

As Derek approaches the supermarket, he passes a woman and her toddler. Stiles swears that the woman actually runs toward her kid and shields him with her body to avoid him being in Derek’s way or heaven forbid, meeting his gaze.

To be honest, it kind of weird Stiles out.

He may have a reason to be wary of Derek, but _he_ knows what he is, so what’s these people’s excuse?

For all they know, he’s a guy coming back to town for the first time since his family died tragically in an accident, and discovering that a wild animal killed his sister. Sure, he was a suspect in her murder, but he was also cleared of all suspicion. .

It reminds Stiles of all those times after his mother’s death when people were gossiping about her presence at the Hale house, thinking that maybe she had started the fire. People began making up all sorts of horrible and salacious scenarios trying to explain the accident.

 Following Derek in the supermarket, hiding in the next aisle, Stiles finds himself sympathizing with the poor guy. Well, he does for like three seconds before a hand grabs him and he finds himself slammed against the storage room wall. It happens so fast that he blinks for a second, looking around him, and wondering how he ended up in this room.

 As soon as the doors swing close behind them, a hand is around his throat and either Derek Hale needs to buy a nail clipper or Stiles can add ‘retractable claws’ to his list of werewolf abilities.

He tries to keep those claws away from his fragile skin, but all it does is expose more of his neck to the beast. Stiles flails, trying to get away, but Derek comes even closer, keeping Stiles trapped between the wall and his body. Quite frankly, only the body heat allows Stiles to differentiate between the two surfaces, how can someone have so many muscles?

 “Did you really think I would be dumb enough to trap myself in that cage?”

 Oh.

 “I have no idea what you’re talking about? What cage? That sounds kinky!”

 Suddenly, his feet aren’t even touching the ground anymore. Jeez, Derek is holding him in the air by the throat, his other hand clutching his shirt, and he isn’t even breaking a sweat.

‘Unnatural strength’, check.

 “Your stink was all over it.” Derek rages.

 ‘Super smell’, check.

 Wow, if Derek doesn’t kill him in the next few minutes, this plan will have been a success!

 “Why are you doing this?”

 Stiles swallows. He doesn’t want to go into the whole ‘Stiles genesis’ speech.

 “It doesn’t matter. It’s what you are and what you did that matters here.”

 “And what is that? Please enlighten me.”

 Stiles bites his lip and looks away.

 “I didn’t kill my sister. I came to find out who did,” the werewolf insists.

 “And who is that?”

 “I don’t know.”

 “So what, you can’t super smell him?” Stiles mocks.

 Derek glares and Stiles swallows heavily. Mocking the monster that has you in his claws isn’t a very good idea. Stiles always says stupid things when he’s scared, or panicked, or nervous, or tired, or…okay, he has no mouth-brain filter, bite him. Derek bares his teeth and he winces. No, no he takes that back, no biting, please!

 The claws release him and Stiles crumples to the ground like his legs are made of marshmallows.

 “Stop following me,” Derek orders after a long sigh.

 “Wait, wait, wait!”

 Why is he stopping him? The monster isn’t going to kill him, that’s good news! For God’s sake his curiosity is going to get him killed.

Derek stops with a hand on the door but doesn’t turn back towards him.

 “You know what killed your sister? Is he a monster like you?”

 Wow, ‘fangs and glowing blue eyes’, check. ‘Pissing himself’, maybe a little check.

 “He is nothing like me,” the werewolf growls.

 Stiles forces himself to get back on his feet.

 “Oh, so he must be a good guy, right?” Stiles taunts.

 The fangs retract, but those magnificent eyebrows are merely millimetres away from touching each other.

Are those the result of a werewolf mutation too?

 Derek takes a step towards him and Stiles brings his hand to his waist where his knife is hidden. Before he can reach it, the werewolf catches his wrist, squeezing way too hard. Stiles tries not to grimace and to take the knife with his other hand. Before he knows it, both his wrists are held above his head. Derek is holding them with one hand and doesn’t look impressed at all.

He slowly lifts the human’s shirt and looks down. He raises an eyebrow when he sees the knife tucked in the teen’s pants. Stiles hopes werewolves don’t have super hearing because he’s pretty sure his heart is doing the rumba right now. Stiles shivers despite himself when the back of Derek’s hand grazes his stomach as he takes the knife. The man brings it in front of Stiles’ face and observes it with a critical eye.

 “Is that silver?” he asks with a mocking tone. “It’s pretty,” he decides before tucking it into his pants. From the lack of a hissing sound, smoke, and pain, Stiles is pretty sure he can erase silver from his list of werewolf allergens. “You obviously need to do more research. So, get back to that and leave me alone.”

 Stiles is on the verge of protesting when suddenly Derek’s hand catches his jaw and pushes his head against the wall. He can feel the werewolf’s breath on his throat and feels himself going cross-eyed looking at the fangs growing, an inch away from brushing his skin.

 “Or I’m going to rip your throat out. With my teeth,” Derek hisses.

 Stiles closes his eyes, shuddering and clenching his teeth in fright. His eyes snap open when his ass suddenly hits the floor and he finds himself alone in the room. He brings his knees to his chest and sits there for a while, trying to catch his breath and calm his heart.

 

*************************

 When he gets home that afternoon, he tapes the picture of Derek to his computer screen and looks at his smiling, innocent-looking young face while he lists all the things he’s learned about him today.

 Once he finishes cross-referencing that information with the websites and deleting the fake ones, he lets himself fall back into his chair and breathe deeply. There’s too much conflicting information. Not only on werewolves, but also on Derek Hale himself. Why didn’t he kill him? Or hurt him?

He may have scared him, but he didn’t actually do anything to hurt him.

 Is he really searching for the beast that hurt his sister? Is he going to fight it? Was it the same beast that attacked the bus driver then? Was Derek there to try and identify it?

 And, more importantly, if Derek is going to hunt the beast killing people, should Stiles really wish someone was hunting Derek?

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Do you know Isaac Lahey?” his dad asks him over dinner.

 “I know who he is,” Stiles confirms distractedly.

 “Someone called the Sheriff’s department this morning, the kid looked pretty beat up so I had to investigate whether or not I needed to call Social Services. He claims it was a bully, but won’t say who. You ever seen anything like that at school or have any idea who it could be?”

 “Not really. I never really talk to Isaac outside of Lacrosse practice.”

 “He’s on the team?”

 “Yeah. Kind of. He tried out for first string a few weeks ago, but apparently he’s not very motivated to help Scott and me warm the bench, he’s barely ever there.”

 “Could you try and keep an eye on him? I’m kind of worried about the kid, it didn’t look like the first time this has happened.”

 “I can try, but it’s not like I can do anything to help,” Stiles confesses gesturing towards his body. Even if he were to catch the bullies in the act, he wouldn’t be able to do much. In fact, he would probably end up being their next victim. That wouldn’t stop him from trying though, but it wouldn’t fix anything.

 “I’m not asking you to get in a fight for him. Just keep an eye out. A discreet one. Remember what your mom used to say?”

 “A bully always has something to hide, find it and you will have him by the balls?”

 “I’m pretty sure she never phrased it like that, but that’s the idea yeah. Isaac seems like a good kid, and he’s probably not the only victim. If they need to have a few words with the Sheriff to calm down, they sure will get it. But for all we know they could be acting out because of a situation at home.”

 “Thank you, Dr. Phil,” Stiles retorts sarcastically while smashing his potatoes with his fork. When he looks up, his father is giving him a terse look. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” Stiles promises grudgingly.

 “Good. What’s up with you anyway?”

 “Nothing.”

 “I saw Scott’s car in front of the bowling alley on the way home. How come you aren’t with him?” His dad tries to ask casually. He’s feigning casual just about as well as his son usually does.

 “We’re not attached at the hip, you know.”

 “You could have had me fooled.”

 Stiles glares, but his heart really isn’t in it. He may have been pretty occupied recently with the whole werewolf thing, but he wasn’t even invited to bowling night. He didn’t even have lunch with Scott today. By the time he’d made it to the cafeteria, Scott was already sitting with Lydia, Jackson, Allison, and Danny. There wasn’t a free seat at their table, so he had just taken his sandwich and gone to eat in the library, checking the GPS tracker. Derek had lunch at Bobby’s. Not that anyone cares.

 His father stands up and brings the dishes to the sink.

 “Can you wash the dishes? I have to get going.”

 “I thought you weren’t working tonight?”

 “I’m not. I’m going to Patty’s Pub with Chris.”

 Stiles straightens up immediately.

 “Chris _Argent_?”

 “Yep,” the Sheriff nods while putting on his coat.

 “And you’re not going to elaborate on why the h- why Mr. Argent is asking you out for a beer?”

 “He’s a cool dude,” his dad replies with a shrug.

 “He’s a hunter.”

 “And I’m the Sheriff. What’s your point?”

 “Oh, nothing. Have a good night with your pal the werewolf hunter then.”

 “Thanks!” His dad smirks, ignoring his son’s sarcasm.

 Stiles doesn’t like this. Stiles doesn’t like this _at all._

 

 

*******************

 He’s working on his history paper and dwelling on the fact that it’s a Friday and everyone is going out except him. Even his _father_ is in on itand his father _never_ goes out! But Stiles suddenly realizes that hey, he knows someone that’s probably alone tonight too. He checks the GPS tracker and sighs when he sees that even Derek is in town. Geez, even this troglodyte has a more active social life than he does these days. He’s zooming in to try and determine what exactly the werewolf is doing tonight, when he realizes where he is.

 Derek is at Patty’s. Where his dad is, where Chris-The-Freaking-Werewolf-Hunter-Argent is. Oh crap, this is not going to end well.

 Before he knows it, he’s grabbed his wolfsbane powder and is running – tumbling, really- toward his jeep.

 He parks in front of Patty’s five minutes later, having broken every speed limit in the nine blocks separating him from the pub.

He gets his phone out and checks the GPS tracker, zooming in as much as he can.

He freezes when he realizes that Derek isn’t actually in the pub. Nope, he’s exactly ten feet from _him_. For Mr. Argent and his dad, it’s probably good news. For him, probably not. Stiles looks around but can’t see anything. He hesitates for a few minutes, before putting some wolfsbane powder in his hand and getting out of the car.

 He stays low between the cars, edging towards Derek’s position. He reaches a big black SUV and crouches down when he sees a shadow in the corner of his eye.

 It looks like Derek is on the other side of this car, but he doesn’t dare to check the tracker on his phone, the blue light of the screen would be a glaring beacon in the dark. Maybe he can look through the car window? Yes, that sounds good. He stands up, as much as he dares, to look, his heart going rabbit fast.

 A hand suddenly catches him around the mouth, covering up his squeak of surprise. Panicking, Stiles throws the powder over his shoulder, right in the werewolf’s face.

 Surprised, Derek lets him go, shaking his head like a wet dog. Stiles tries to run away, but a hand grabs the back of his shirt immediately, keeping him in place.

 “Why are you throwing…” Derek stops for a second, licking his lips and sniffing. “Why the hell would you throw baking soda in my face?” He bellows.

 Damn rabbit wizard. He paid sixty bucks for baking soda?!

 The sound of voices drifts over from the pub’s entrance, and Derek crouches, pulling Stiles down with him. The boy falls on his ass, legs flailing, scrambling until his back hits the car door.

 “Hey, Derek, I wasn’t expecting to see you here!” He tries to feign surprise, giving Derek an innocent smile.

 From the glare the werewolf sends him, he doesn’t buy his bullshit. Well, _that_ would certainly be a first.

 “What are you doing here? How did you know I was here?”

 “I wasn’t following you!” Stiles replies defensively.

 “You’re lying,” Derek says absentmindedly as he rises slightly from his crouching position to survey the entrance of the pub.

 Stiles gapes, flabbergasted, that the guy would actually turn his back on him like that. He’s his enemy; you don’t turn your back on your enemy! He could stab him in the back for all Derek knows! Well, he could have if Derek hadn’t stolen his awesome knife. But still, he could have gotten another one! Derek should treat Stiles as a potential threat, damn it. He is _dangerous_ , okay?

Sadly, the only thing he can think of to cement his dangerous status would be slapping Derek on the ass. Maybe he should. Stiles wonders if it would be as firm as the part of Derek’s torso that had pressed against him the other day in the supermarket. What. Oh god, and Derek just caught him looking at his ass. Shit. And now he’s smirking acknowledging the fact that he caught Stiles looking. Shit.

Stiles can feel himself going red from the roots of his hair to his belly button, but he tries to glare instead. The smirk only gets wider. Humiliated, Stiles tries to get up, but a hand on the waistband of his pants pulls him down again.

 “What is your dad doing with Chris Argent?” Derek whispers vehemently, his face growing serious. Okay, so it’s now established that Derek Hale definitely knows who he is. Good to know, his hopes whisper as they die. 

 “Horse riding,” Stiles responds sarcastically.

 “Is that a metaphor?” Derek asks with a frown.

 “Oh my god, no,” the boy scrubs his face trying to erase that mental image. “They’re just having a beer, okay? What are _you_ doing here?”

 Derek smirks and shows Stiles his hand just in time for him to see claws emerge. Stiles’ heart jumps and starts running at a sprint, but Derek turns his attention toward the car. In one slow anguishing move, he makes a long scratch on the side of the black SUV.

 “What are you doing?” Stiles starts with a scream, but finishes with a whisper once he remembers that they’re hiding. He’s not sure why or from whom they are hiding or if he’s not supposed to call for help, though.

 “Now we’re even,” Derek grumbles.

 “Seriously? Is that what the big bad wolf does with his free time?! Conduct a prank war with the guy that wants to kill you?”

 “You wouldn’t know, would you?”

 Ouch. Stiles has got to admit that he’s failing quite monumentally as a hunter so far, but this is below the belt. Stiles sends the werewolf his best ‘I will end you’ glare, but it doesn’t seem to faze Derek at all. It even looks like it amuses him for a second before he seems to force his face into a serious look - doing something with his eyebrows that should probably be more intimidating than it really is. To Stiles, it just somehow manages to make Derek look like he is trying to poop or something.

 “You have no idea what you’re getting into. I don’t even understand why you want to get involved, but I can tell you that you’re going about it the wrong way. You’re going to get hurt if you continue with this.”

 “Is that a threat?”

 Derek exhales and shakes his head.  “No. Obviously those don’t work. So this is me, asking you to stop.”

 “Oh, if you say so, then,” Stiles retorts sarcastically.

  “I’m not asking you to do it for _me_. I’m asking you to do it because this is not what your mother would have wanted.”

 Suddenly Derek turns his head, like a dog hearing something in the distance. Stiles can only look at him, his emotions choking him, preventing any words to escape his throat. The werewolf throws a glance at something beyond the car and before Stiles can do anything to try and catch him, the other man is running away on all fours.

Stiles blinks slowly, and watches Derek disappear out of sight. He can feel the moisture in his eyes, the anger tightening his chest, and the confusion closing up his throat. He feels like someone just dropped an anvil on his head.

 “Stiles?” A voice makes him look up. The surprise makes him inhale and realize that he hasn’t been breathing, on the verge of a panic attack.

 “Stiles, what are you doing here?” His father appears next to Mr. Argent, looming over him as he’s still sitting on the ground.

 When he notices his dad’s worried frown, he forces himself to close his mouth and act casual…which isn’t an easy task when you’re sitting on the ground of a parking lot in the middle of the night.

 “Oh, hey, Dad. I was just um...”

 “Scratching my car with a knife?”

 Stiles goggles at Chris, before following the hunter’s gaze from the car’s deep scratches to the knife – his knife - on the ground beside him, where Derek had been just a minute ago. When he looks up, Mr. Argent has an eyebrow raised very high and his father is somewhere between gaping like a fish and glaring with the intensity of a thousand suns.

 What the fu…Fucking Derek Hale!

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting kind of worried by the lack of comments, so...leave me one and soothe my insecurities maybe?


	6. Chapter 6

“Help!” Stiles screams again, hoping someone will hear him.

 The soil is very cold under him, the frozen leaves crackling every time he moves. Around him, the forest is becoming more and more menacing as it gets darker and darker - clouds beginning to obscure the crescent moon.

He jumps when he hears rustling to his right, his heart rate picking up speed. The sound is getting louder and louder, something is moving toward him…and fast. Stiles cringes, hoping it’s not the unknown beast. He is _so_ screwed if it is.

 Derek appears and Stiles releases a breath.

Lesser of two evils, he guesses.

Derek advances toward him, he looks alert, his head tilting as he listens to his surroundings, and is he… sniffing the air?

He crouches next to Stiles, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking him over.

 “What happened? Are you okay?” He asks and the actual worry in his voice makes something clench in Stiles’ stomach.

 “Yeah. I think so.”

 Stiles sits up, forcing Derek to either stand or fall on his ass.

 “Help me up?” Stiles asks extending a hand toward the other boy while he clenches his other fist, taking a deep breath.

 The werewolf takes his hand and pulls him up. Stiles opens his free hand as he rises, letting the powder fall where it’s needed. The teenager stands up and immediately takes a few steps back. But the confused look on Derek’s face somehow spoils Stiles’ victory. The older boy tries to take a step toward him and abruptly stops. Stiles can actually pinpoint the exact moment Derek realizes what’s happened by the way his face falls for a second before the anger takes over, digging lines on his forehead. Stiles gasps when he blinks and suddenly finds himself standing face to face with an actual transformed werewolf for the first time. It’s nothing like he imagined, less hairy and more…wrinkly, he guesses.

 “What did you do?” Derek storms, trying to advance on Stiles again and finding himself unable to, his eyes flashing blue in anger.

 After the rabbit wizard fiasco, Stiles spent hours searching for genuine wolfsbane. In his search, he’d stumbled across a website that seemed 100% real. With just a couple of e-mails with the owner – a guy that went by the nickname drwolfbane - Stiles was able to determine that this guy really knew what he was talking about. He’d spent the better part of a week on Skype with the stranger and learned a few interesting things, like the existence of mountain ash, and the fact that, if poured into a circle around a werewolf and with a sufficient amount of human belief, it could actually trap the beast for an undetermined amount of time.

 He had felt a little bad when he’d realized the best way to trap Derek. He never thought that exploiting his humanity would be how he would catch a werewolf. And frankly he doesn’t feel any better now that’s he’s succeeded in trapping a werewolf. Way worse, in fact.

 But Derek knows something about his mother and Stiles needs answers.

 “I needed to talk to you,” he confesses.

 “And you couldn’t have just asked?” The man rages.

 “So that you could make me fall on my ass and disappear again? No. I couldn’t.”

 Derek changes back to his human mask and looks Stiles squarely in the eye.

 “Stiles, let me out,” he says slowly, more gently.

 Stiles squints, realizing it is the first time the werewolf has used his name. Is he like trying to _wolf charm_ him or something? Because Derek won’t stop looking him in the eye and it is very disturbing like he is looking right into his soul or something. Damn, those are fine eyes. Pretty eyes.

Crap, could a werewolf glamour you like the vampires in True Blood? He hadn’t read anything about that, but just in case, Stiles focuses his eyes on the ground.

 “You said…what you said about my mom. Why did you say that? What do you know about her?”

 “I’m not talking if you don’t let me go,” Derek says stubbornly.

 Stiles nods. He didn’t think it would be _that_ easy. It never is, is it? He’s kind of impressed it had gone so well so far.

He approaches a tree and pulls on the cord he’d rigged there earlier. His backpack drops down. Stiles smirks at Derek. Stiles then extracts a candy bar and his sleeping bag from his pack and gets comfortable – spreading his sleeping bag out on the ground before sitting down.

 “I’m in no rush. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be right here,” he says, munching on his chocolate.

 He’s pretty certain he just witnessed a werewolf actually _huffing_ in frustration. 

 “What is _wrong_ with you? There is an alpha out there killing people, there are hunters wanting to kill _me_ , we don’t have _time_ for this.”

 Stiles ignores him, his mind stuck on the word ‘alpha’. Is that what’s out there? He thought it would be a rogue werewolf, but if it is an actual alpha, this is way more dangerous than he thought. An alpha would seek a pack; an alpha could actually _bite_ people to make them werewolves. It’s miracle he hasn’t done so already. Oh god, what if he has. What if he is out there biting people and building his own army of monsters. No, not army, _pack_. What if there is a pack out there?

 “Wait, did he bite anyone? Does he have a pack? Are you…”

 “No, I’m not! That’s what I’ve been telling you from the start, Stiles, I’m not the enemy, I…” he stops abruptly, straightening up and looking around, eyes wide. He looks like he is panicking. Why does Derek look like he is panicking? Derek panicking is so very not good.

 “Stiles let me go! He’s coming! You have to let me out of here!”

 Stiles jumps to his feet, running toward him. He stops three feet from the mountain ash line and looks around.

 Wait.

 He isn’t seeing anything. What if this is a ruse?

He’s _not_ falling for that. It’s his chance to finally get some answers about his mother. He’s not risking it without a good reason. He tries to listen for any suspicious sounds but can’t hear anything coming from the trees.

Nope, he’s so not falling for that.

 He steps back and turns toward Derek.

 “Wow, you had me going there for a minute.”

 “What? Stiles, you have to let me out of here!”

 Derek is a very good actor. He really looks terrified. But the thing his, his fear doesn’t make any sense. The alpha wouldn’t be able to cross the line of mountain ash either, so Derek is actually safer in there than Stiles is out here. Ergo, he must be faking it.

 “What do you know about my mom?” Stiles insists.

 Derek throws him a glare, but starts turning around within the mountain ash circle almost like he’s following something invisible, like there was something running around them. Seriously, this guy needs to get into showbiz. With that face, that body and that talent, he would have his star on Hollywood Boulevard in no time.

 “I said, what do you -” Stiles stops, freezing when he hears a branch cracking on his left. “What was that?”

 Derek sends him the most scathing ‘are you fucking stupid’ look Stiles has ever seen – and he has seen _a lot_ of those.

A branch cracks on the right and Stiles’ muscles tense up so hard that it actually hurts. He turns his head as slowly as he can toward the noise, remembering that wolves like the chase. Two red eyes are glowing in the dark, behind the tree line, just thirty feet from him.

He hears a growl from behind him and yeah, there it is - he has his answer. The alpha _does_ have a pack.

 An answering growl comes from beside him and he looks at Derek from the corner of his eye. Derek is in a defensive crouch, his full attention on the alpha, his eyes are glowing blue and his mouth is open, revealing a set of fangs.

Okay. Maybe Stiles has a fighting chance then. That is, if Derek can win against two of those monsters, and that he would actually try to save Stiles in the process. Quite frankly, at this point, Stiles couldn’t blame him if he didn’t. It’s funny how facing certain death makes you realize how much of a pain in the ass you’ve been.

 The clouds are beginning to clear. The light of the moon slowly begins to illuminate the clearing and in doing so, reveals the alpha for the first time. Stiles whimpers. This looks like a full on ‘bête du Gevaudan’. Except it looks way scarier than in the books. Or the movies. Bigger and uglier.

 “Oh my god, I’m going to die,” he panics.  

 “You need to step into the circle,” Derek murmurs insistently.

 The beast in front of them snarls, as if to remind them that he can hear them perfectly.

Stiles can’t move. He can’t. The alpha is ready to pounce; he’s just waiting for an excuse. Stiles has no idea where the monster behind him is exactly. For all he knows he’s at an arm’s distance – at _claw’s_ distance - but he doesn’t dare look. No excuses. He will give them no excuses. He’s…He’s a possum. He just has to play dead and they will get bored and go away.

Please let the possum strategy work before he pees himself.

 “Stiles. I can’t take them both. Not while protecting you too,” Derek whispers, “it’s just three steps to the right. Take a deep breathe and do it as fast as you can,” he encourages.

 “I can’t,” Stiles responds, his voice weak and trembling, barely audible.

 He’s man enough to admit that he has no balls. He’s stuck to the spot here. Right now taking those three steps is like being asked to do the New York Marathon, hopping on one foot. He can’t do it. He _can’t_.

 “Okay. It’s okay. Just…when I say go, you extend your arm toward me and I will pull you in, okay? You just have to move one arm, that’s all.”

 Stiles is pretty sure the alpha just smirked evilly. The alpha’s eyes are fixed on Stiles and he’s smirking like he understands exactly what is happening and is up for the challenge. He looks like he’s _enjoying_ the idea of a challenge.

 “Come on, Stiles. You can do it.”

 “I…c…can’t.”

 “Yes, you can. Just concentrate on my voice and close your eyes, okay?”

 The alpha crouches a little more, ready to pounce. The alpha’s belly is on the ground and his behind is wriggling from left to right as if he was wagging his invisible tail in excitement.

Okay. Deep breath. Stiles bites his lip, and closes his eyes.

 “Good. Good. Now, prepare to stretch your arm out, okay? Don’t…don’t open your eyes.”

 What, why is he saying that, what is hap….

 “GO!”

 Stiles swears he can actually feel the alpha’s hairs grazing his cheek as Derek tugs hard, pulling him – almost flinging him - out of harm’s way.

 It actually takes Stiles a few seconds before he dares open his eyes again, he’s not sure what just happened, not sure if he wants to know where he is.

 Is he dead?

 No, wait. Something is crushing his torso and his right wrist hurts like hell.

 Okay, so he’s not dead.

 He opens his eyes and sees…skin. He’s crushed against Derek, his nose pressed against Derek’s collarbone and it takes Stiles a few seconds to realize he’s holding onto him for dear life, his fingers going numb where he’s clenching the other man’s shirt. He knows he should let go and play the ‘pfff not even scared’ part like a tough guy, but frankly, what’s the point anymore? A supernatural monster nearly ate him, he doesn’t give a shit about his dignity – not that he had much to begin with.

He takes a deep breath and presses heavily against Derek for a few more seconds, willing his heart to calm down. The arms around him squeeze him a little before shaking him and forcing him to get back onto his feet.

 Okay, okay, time to man up, then.

 He stands up and is going to take a step back when a hand on his waist pulls him back against Derek.

 Oh, back to cuddling? He’s okay with that.

 “The line,” Derek warns.

 Oh, right.

The circle he made wasn’t very large. It definitely wasn’t meant to hold two men. He looks down and with some careful adjustments, he manages to have enough space to turn around and look at the clearing. He feels like crying when he sees the alpha sitting only six feet away from him, just looking at him, his tongue dangling from his enormous mouth as he pants like a dog waiting for someone to throw him a ball. Shit, _he_ is the ball. And the alpha looks like he isn’t afraid of waiting.

 Behind him, a werewolf looking more like Derek – which must mean that it’s a beta – is standing in a less relaxed position straining toward them; he looks like he’s still ready to pounce.

Stiles squints in the direction of the beta werewolf. Something about him is familiar, his posture, his form, but the clearing is too dark and the beta’s face too deformed for Stiles to determine the beta’s identity.

 What did he say earlier about his plan going smoother than expected? Jeez, he’d jinxed it, hadn’t he?

 And now, he’s going to get _eaten_.

 He throws a look at Derek and the baleful glance he gets in return makes him wonder which one of those wolves is going to attack him first.

 He honestly has no idea, and he’s not looking forward to find out.  

 


	7. Chapter 7

“I’m not scared of you.” Stiles says with as much conviction as he can manage, looking the alpha straight in the eye. “You can’t touch me. You can’t do anything to me while I’m in here.”

 The alpha suddenly pounces toward him and Stiles jumps back. The arm around his waist, steadying him, is the only thing that keeps Stiles from leaving or damaging the protective circle of mountain ash.

 “Are you finished now?” Derek asks, not amused. Unlike the alpha apparently, because Stiles is pretty sure he just heard a chuckle come out of its enormous muzzle. The beast turns around, and moves closer to its beta - who is currently lounging on Stiles’ damn sleeping bag - and just, sits there, waiting.

 “I had to try.”

 “To do what exactly?”

 “You know,” Stiles answers with a shrug. “Tame the beast.”

 “You know what? Just shut up now, or _I_ am going _throw_ you out of this circle.”

 Stiles pouts.

 “Why haven’t you, though?” He asks curiously.

 The look Derek gives him makes him regret asking. Because now Derek looks like he’s seriously considering it…and not finding a lot of reasons against the idea.

 Derek wraps his hand around Stiles’ forearm and he nearly has a heart attack. Thankfully, Derek only smirks before releasing him, having proven his point. Or so he seems to think. The teenager still doesn’t understand what is going on. Why is Derek helping him? Why is he not throwing him to the wolves – literally – to save his own skin? Derek could, like, knock Stiles out, use him like a giant man eraser to break the line of mountain ash, and run away. Or something. Remember, plans, not one of Stiles’ best qualities, even when they are hypothetical.

 “So, what’s the plan?” Maybe Derek is better than him at this. God, Stiles hopes so.

 “I don’t know. We can try to run for it?”

 Or not. Jeez, Derek is even worse than him.

 Stiles looks at where the two monsters are still waiting. The beta is actually picking his claws. Even if Stiles were to come up with the best plan ever, it’s not like he could tell it to Derek with werewolves with enhanced eavesdropping abilities sitting right over there.

Oh but he could write it. He has…oh my god, he has his phone! He pats his pocket and gets the precious object out.

 “Yes!” He squeals in victory, shoving the phone in front of Derek’s face to show him proudly.

 His circle buddy doesn’t look impressed. Whatever. Buzzkill.

 “Come on, this is great! I can call…” He hesitates for a second. He wants to say the police, but there is no way he’s getting his father involved in this. “…the hunters?”

 “Yeah, because that’s all I need right now, _more_ people to fight.”

 “If Mr. Argent wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be here right now. Come on, this is our best shot, okay? What choice do we…Oh, wait.” He turns toward the beast and points to his phone. “Hey guys, see this? I’m one phone call away from having your asses handed to me on a silver platter. I can call and an army gets here ASAP. With guns. Lot of guns. So if I were you, I would run away like… right now,” he taunts.

 The alpha tilts its head to the side a little before baring his fangs.

 “Okay. Last chance?” Stiles asks, trying not to appear intimidated. The beast snarls. “As you wish, then.”

 He throws one last look at Derek. The werewolf sighs before closing his eyes and nodding grudgingly.

 “Oh, wait,” Stiles grimaces, looking at his phone desperately. You’ve got to be kidding.

 “What is it?”

 “I don’t…um…actually _have_ the Argents’ phone number,” he scratches his head, embarrassed. He’s pretty sure the face Derek just made qualifies as an official bitchface. An epic one at that. Stiles doesn’t dare look up to see what an alpha smug face must look like. “It’s okay though. I will just call Scott. I’m pretty sure he has it. Or maybe he could call Allison for me and ask her?”

 Derek looks one hundred percent done.

 When Scott doesn’t answer his phone – damn it, Scott! – and Stiles ends up having to call 4-1-1 for some directory assistance, the werewolf looks like he’s wishing there was a wall that he could hit his head against.

 “I have it!” Stiles declares victoriously a few minutes later.

 The bitch from the call center put him on _hold_ for God’s sake. Listening to Jeopardy theme song while surrounded by werewolves, wanting to chew on his bones, has got to be one of the most awkward moments of his life.

 He dials the number to the Argent’s household and waits. A woman’s voice answers and Stiles tenses for a second, praying that he does have the right number.

 “Mrs.…Argent? May I speak to Mr. Argent? Please.”

 He’s not one to lose his manners just because he can feel - and smell - the alpha’s hot and fetid breath hitting his face. The alpha is looking at him menacingly from one – oh god _one_ – foot away. He knows the alpha can’t possibly get any closer than that, but he sure does look like he wants to. Stiles tries to step back, but only manages to bump into Derek. Damn it, why did he draw such a tiny circle?

 “He’s out, sorry. This is Kate, his sister.”

 Stiles straightens up. Wow, this is the next best thing! Apparently, Derek must have heard and doesn’t think the same. The teen can feel the werewolf’s whole body tensing up against his back and he’s pretty sure that growl didn’t come from the alpha.

Oh. _Right_. She did kill his whole family, didn’t she? But…they killed his mom! She didn’t have a choice. He’s suddenly reminded of who the good guy – or girl – actually is in this situation and Stiles tenses too. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place, he’s between an evil alpha monster and a probably-but-maybe-not-evil werewolf. Again, _how_ is this his life?

 “This is…um…Stiles,” he hesitates, feeling even more tension in the air. Kate makes a non-committal noise, not seeming to recognize the name. Oh fuck it. “Um…Stalker Stilinski?” He supplies, half-grumbled.

 “Oh! Hey, kid!”

 “I’m kind of in a situation right now,” the alpha growls menacingly toward him and Stiles squeaks. “I would really appreciate a little help. The kind with heavy weaponry? Please,” he ends with a small voice, his throat suddenly very tight.

 He’s managed to stay very calm so far, but he can feel his control weakening. It’s as if talking about what is happening to him to someone that isn’t in the middle of this nightmare is making it way more real.

He doesn’t know if Kate heard the snarl or if she’s hearing the fear in his voice – probably both - but her voice is suddenly very serious.

 “Where are you?”

 “Two miles east of the Hale house.”

 “Are you in a secure location?” From the background noise it sounds as if she’s already preparing to come and kick some ass.

 “K…Kind of?”

 “Don’t move unless you have no choice, okay? Stay hidden. We’re coming.”

 She hangs up and Stiles puts the phone back into his pocket with trembling hands. He jumps a little when a hand lands on his shoulder. He turns toward Derek and tries to smile reassuringly.

 The cavalry is coming; this is a good thing, right?

 But the beginning of his smile falls immediately when he sees the expression on Derek’s face. Every line on his face is set in anger, but when his gaze meet Stiles’, the boy only sees terror in the hazel eyes of the werewolf.

Unable to hold his gaze, Stiles looks down.

He’s gotten what he wanted, hasn’t he? He’s delivering Derek right into the hands of the hunters. The last of the family responsible for his mother’s death, and he will have been the one to bring him down. All the monsters that took his mom away from him will finally have disappeared.

 His mom will be avenged.

 It’s supposed to be a good thing, right?

 So why does he feel so horrible?

 Behind him, the alpha starts to howl.

 

*****************************

 Stiles clenches his fists. The more time passes, the more he’s trembling. His heartbeat must be deafening for the werewolf standing next to him. Stiles’ throat feels so tight that he can barely breathe. The only thing keeping him from having a full on panic attack right now is probably the vestige of his survival instincts, the adrenaline pumping in his veins.

 He can’t hear any noises, but he knows from the werewolves’ reactions when the hunters reach the forest.

 The alpha is pacing, preparing for a fight, sniffing the air to try and identify its enemies.

 The beta is less sure. He seems nervous, throwing glances at his alpha, waiting for instructions, poised – ready to run. It’s becoming quite clear that this guy wants to run away, but knows that it won’t be tolerated.

 Beside him, Derek hasn’t moved an inch since Stiles hung up the phone. He’s tense, fists clenched, and observing the horizon as if he can actually see the hunters approaching even though they must still be at least a mile away.

 Stiles scratches his head nervously. He can’t take this tension. He hates being the only one not hearing what is happening out there. How many hunters are there? Why isn’t the alpha running away?

 “Please run away. Please.” He mumbles nervously, hands clutching nervously the bottom of his shirt.

 He doesn’t want the alpha to survive this, but he doesn’t actually want to be here for this fight. He wants…He wants for this to stop. He wants to go home.

 He’s not a hunter.

 Who was he kidding? This isn’t Wolf of Warcraft, those are real monsters with real claws. _Death_ is real. He’s never stared it in the face like that before, and he isn’t very proud of how he is doing right now.

 He never thought he was that brave to begin with, but he always had this secret belief that in a dire situation, he would know what to do. That when the moment came he would be the one that tries to save people. He always wanted to be a hero, but he’s not cut out to be one. He’s just a clumsy kid with attention problems and stupid ideas.

 God, what was he thinking going after Derek alone?

 Derek could have killed him anytime he wanted. He could have killed him a hundred times by now.

 But he hasn’t.

 That’s the most troubling thing in all this. He’s made this guy’s life a living hell. Stalked him, attacked him, imprisoned him, and now, because of him, the werewolf will be at the mercy of hunters. So why?

 Why the hell isn’t he _doing_ anything?

 Stiles turns toward Derek. His eyes are wide and he’s almost panting as he waits for the enemy to appear, knowing that he won’t be able to do anything against them. They will come with guns and all he can do is stay in this little circle and wait to be shot at.

 Stiles can hear them now, frost-tinged leaves cracking, branches breaking, and the heavy sounds of boots running toward them.

 The sound of guns being cocked.

 It’s like time stops to take a breath before it all begins. Silence invades the clearing for just one second.

 The second passes, the alpha snarls, and suddenly the forest is alive with sounds. The sound of dozens of guns being fired at the same time is deafening, Stiles discovers.

 He can only stand there for the second that follows, eyes wide, searching for the people coming to save him.

 Then, suddenly, there is _pain_.

 Numb, Stiles looks down and sees blood staining his shirt.

  _His_ blood. He doesn’t understand it. This isn’t how it was supposed to happen.

 He was going be saved.

 How can it be worse than it was five seconds ago? This doesn’t make any sense.

 He looks up but all he can see in the dark are shadows and quick flashes of light as weapons are fired. Loud shots are sometimes interrupted by a scream, a snarl, or a growl.

 Stiles blinks.

 Less than ten seconds have passed before he falls to the ground.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the angst...I hope you'll still like it!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this story, especially to those who took the time to leave me a message *hugs*

Stiles wakes when someone shakes him.

 “Hey, you okay there?” A woman’s voice asks. Stiles blinks, his vision is blurry and his head is hurting like hell. He sits up and is greeted with a shooting pain in his side. He looks down and sees the blood on his shirt.

 “No, I’m not. You shot me!” He lifts his shirt to inspect the wound.

 “Barely.” Kate snorts. It looks like the bullet just grazed him, thank god.

 “How did I…?” He touches his forehead and winces. That hurts way more than the bullet wound.

 “Big boy there fell on you.” She points behind him. “Must have knocked your head on the ground. Good thing too, he took the brunt of the damage.”

 Stiles turns around and feels his heart sink when he sees Derek’s bloody body face down on the ground behind him. His back is riddled with wounds.

 “Oh my god, is he _dead_?” He asks, patting the werewolf’s body. Stiles flips him over and takes Derek’s face between his hands, trying to rouse him. Derek moans, but remains unconscious, but at least he’s breathing and finally Stiles feels like _he_ can breathe again.

 “Not yet.”

 The boy turns toward the woman as she gestures at two men. One hunter grabs Derek’s feet as the other one grabs a hold under Derek’s arms.

 “What…What are you going to do to him? What, what about the alpha?” He looks around. Did they kill him? Is it over?

 “The other two got away. But this one should help us find them.”

 “Der…He’s not with them. He doesn’t know who they are or wh…”

 “And you trust his word? He knows more than he lets on. Believe me. We were going to let him lead us to the others, but we can’t exactly pass up the chance to get our hands on him. I guess I’ll have to speed up my brother’s plan a little. You okay to go home, kid?”

 “Go ho…I’m not going home! What are you going to do to him?”

 “Look, this doesn’t concern you. Be happy you made it out alive tonight and go home.”

 She gestures again at the two men and they leave with Derek, the werewolf moaning at the manhandling, leaving a trail of blood droplets. Kate goes to follow them but Stiles stops her.

 “ _I_ was the one to trap him. And from what it looks like _,_ _I’m_ the reason you got the closest you’ve ever been to capturing the alpha _,_ ” he reminds her with conviction.

 Kate stops and gives Stiles an appraising look. He straightens up and grits his teeth, holding her gaze with determination.

 “My brother told me you want to become a hunter, isn’t that right?”

 “Y…Yes. Yes,” He repeats with more conviction than he actually has. Is that still what he wants?

 “All right. Your work was sloppy and your plan stupid, but it was kind of brave. You want to fight this fight and you’re in.”

 “Your brother said that I was too y…”

 “My brother is naïve. He still thinks we can win this war by playing fair,” she points towards the tree line where Stiles notices for the first time that there’s at least two bodies on the ground. “ _They_ aren’t. And they sure don’t deserve our mercy. Go home and rest. If you still want to be a hunter tomorrow, I’ll teach you what you need to know. How does that sound?”

 “Gr…Great. Thanks.”

 “No problem, kid. You deserve it,” She bumps his shoulder with her fist, before winking at him and disappearing back into the woods.

 

 ************************

 When he gets home, his father is not there, out working the night shift.

Stiles tends to his wounds as best as he can before falling into bed, exhausted. Now that the adrenaline has left his body, he can feel the impact of the night in the way every part of his body hurts.  

 As expected, the bullet wound is little more than a deep cut on his right side. His head still hurts and from the way his room keeps swimming, he’s pretty sure he has a concussion. His right wrist is swollen and it’s difficult to move it around, but he has had enough broken bones in his clumsy life to know that it isn’t actually broken. He’s pretty sure he’ll have some impressive bruises in the shape of Derek’s fingerprints onto his skin for at least a few days though.

 Despite his bone deep exhaustion, he can’t sleep. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Derek’s bloody body on the ground, immobile. Kate says that he fell on top of him, that Stiles was lucky the werewolf’s body covered him and from the number of wounds on Derek’s back, she’s right. Had Derek not covered him, those bullets would be in Stiles right now.

 There’s just something not right with that picture.

 Two things are bothering Stiles leaving him awake and uncertain.

He knows from the position he was in when he woke up that when he had fallen, his body had broken the line of mountain ash. Derek could have just run away.

But he was hurt right? That’s what Kate said, that he got shot and fell on him, saving him by accident.

The thing is, the hunters’ attack came from the front. Derek was behind him. The force of the shots would have caused him to fall backward, not forward.

Stiles can’t keep the image of Derek’s bloody body out of his mind. It’s engraved there in vivid detail. But the thing is, Stiles can’t remember seeing any wounds on the front of Derek’s body. All of the wounds were on his back, which means he got them _after_ he fell down on top of Stiles.  

So, what made him fall forward? More importantly, even if Derek got shot first, how could one shot make him fall over when a dozen didn’t kill him? And the strangest thing, the thing that bothers Stiles the most, is why, why on earth didn’t Derek try to run?

The circle was broken, he was free, why didn’t he just get up and run? He could have made it out during the chaos of the fight. He could have run away. One shot doesn’t stop a werewolf.

It doesn’t make any sense.

 In the end that is what makes him grab his phone the next morning and call Kate Argent.

He’s not sure he wants to become a hunter anymore, but he needs to understand what happened in that clearing. Because he tries and tries and tries again, but none of the scenarios he can imagine can explain that what transpired last night proves that Derek is the monster he’s supposed to be.

 

 **************************

 “So where are you at so far? Do you know how to fight? Have you ever shot a gun?” Kate asks while they’re walking in the woods towards god knows where.

 “Um…”

 Stiles has a feeling this will become embarrassing very fast. His father had wanted to teach him to shoot once. Stiles accidentally broke the Sheriff’s nose before he even had the occasion to actually shoot the gun. This is a story that they are both too humiliated to even acknowledge though, so he’s certainly not going to tell it to Kate badass-hunter Argent. She probably shot her first gun when she was, like, five years old. And pierce a perfect bull’s eye into the target.

 “Have you even thrown a punch before in your life?”

 She seems sceptical. She has reason to be. His efforts trying to buff up at the gym were even more disastrous that his first – and last - experience with a gun. But for the sake of his dignity, he’s just going pretend that all his roughhousing with Scott was real training. Yeah, he’s going to go with that.

 “More often than my dad would have liked,” he responds attempting to sound cocky. She smiles as if she’s buying it.

 “Yeah, your dad is the Sheriff, right? Could be useful to have some help from the police department,” she says as she starts walking again. He stops her with a hand on her wrist, letting her go as soon as she turns and throws a look at the hand daring to touch her.

 “My dad has _nothing_ to with this. He is not to be involved.”

 “Werewolves killed his wife; I think he already is, sweetie.”

 “Just because he knows they exist doesn’t mean he has to hunt them.”

 Kate gauges him for a few seconds before nodding. “It’s a waste of resources if you ask me, but I get it. I won’t tell him anything about our little…get together, don’t worry.”

 “Thanks.”

 They start walking back and Stiles thinks he recognizes this part of the forest. Are they walking toward the Hale house? Oh god, he hopes she doesn’t want to actually go there, that place still gives him the creeps.

 “Where are we going?”

 “It’s a surprise,” she announces with a bright smile.

 She really is a beautiful woman, Stiles notices. She kind of makes him uncomfortable though. Growing up, he had started worshipping her a little. She was the hero that avenged his mother after all. But now, he can’t help wondering what kind of hero would let her men shoot in the direction of a sixteen year old and not even offer him a ride to the hospital afterwards. Doesn’t seem very heroic to him. But maybe the fact that he can’t fathom what actually happened last night is impacting his perception of the situation?

 She suddenly stops. From here, Stiles can see the Hale house, half a mile away, but instead of going toward it Kate leads Stiles down a slope. He follows her and sees a door he’s never noticed before. The woman opens it and waves for him to enter.

 It’s broad daylight outside, but as soon as the door is closed behind them, everything gets really dark and creepy. She leads him through a tunnel that smells like dirt and dampness, but, thankfully, not like smoke.

 “What is this place?”

 “Every monster needs his own private playground, right? This was the Hales’,” she declares, pointing toward the far wall on the right where Stiles notices two cells.

 He abruptly stops when he realizes what those cells must have been for. Was his mom put in one of those? Is it where she died? He brought a hand to his stomach, suddenly nauseous.

 “She wasn’t brought here,” Kate answers and Stiles realizes he asked that out loud.

 “Wh…What did they do to her?”

 The hunter looks down at her hands for a second, before stepping in front of him, squeezing his shoulder, forcing Stiles to meet her gaze

 “You don’t want to hear that. You don’t need to know that. All you need to know is that they killed her. I saw them kill her. I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything to save her, Stiles.”

 She sounds sorry, but Stiles can see the rage in her eyes, the hate burning in them. He’s never seen such hate before and it intimidates him into lowering his eyes, uncomfortable.

 “Was Derek…” he can’t help but ask. Because he used to hate werewolves before he met one. Now, he isn’t sure anymore.

 Kate must sense his hesitation because she’s suddenly squeezing his shoulder a little too hard. She grabs his jaw and forces him to look at her.

 “Derek knew perfectly well what his family had planned. It’s what they do, Stiles. It’s what they all do. They can’t help it.”

 “All of them?”

 “Yes,” she responds with conviction. “Don’t be fooled; don’t ever let yourself be fooled. They’re smart, they’re manipulators. That makes them even more dangerous. You get that?”

 Stiles can’t meet her gaze, he _can’t_ , but the hand holding his face forces him to look. He nods and her touch gentles. Her hand slides until it’s on his cheek, a calming touch, reassuring.

 “I’m trusting you here, Stiles. We can’t do this if you’re not aware of how dangerous the monster in there is. I need you on the same wavelength as me or we’re not doing this at all.”

 “I am. I just…”

 “There is no ‘just’. They killed your mother. Derek is one of them. And now they are killing other people, innocent people. I’m not doing this for fun, okay? We need to do what we need to do in order to find the alpha and his young beta. Because if we don’t, they’re going to kill again, but this time, it’s going to be on _us_. So I need you to get in there and be with me. Can you do that? It’s okay if you can’t, you can still go home, call your friends or do your homework instead, whatever. You choose. But you need to choose your side _right now_ , all right?”

 Stiles nods. She’s right. There are monsters killing people out there. Derek is one of them. The werewolf may not have killed _him_ when he had the chance, but that doesn’t automatically make him innocent in regards to hurting other people. Stiles doesn’t _know_ he hadn’t. If Derek’s family were monsters, then Derek must be one too. He can’t help it, it’s what he _is_ , Stiles repeats to himself.

 Kate seems to notice the renewed conviction in his eyes because she smiles warmly and pats him amiably on the cheek once before letting him go.

 “Come on, come see your gift!” She announces, moving backward until she reaches a huge metal door.

 She winks once before turning around and opening the door. At first, it’s too dark for Stiles to see anything as he goes through the doorway, but suddenly the light is turned on and there it is.

 Derek is chained to the wall, chest naked, and arms tied over his head. On his right side, some tape holds wires against his skin. Stiles follows the length of the wire as it leads to a rusty looking machine. Kate is standing next to the table, one hand on the machine, while her other arm makes a wide sweeping gesture.

 “Welcome to your first lesson of hunter training, I call it: _Werewolf and Electricity: The True Face of the Monster,_ ” she announces, smiling proudly.

 She flips a switch and a static buzz resonates throughout the room. A few seconds later, the sound is covered up by Derek’s roars as he voices his pain and anger, his face transforming before Stiles’ eyes. Derek’s straining against his bonds; trying to stretch toward Kate as much as he can. In that moment, he looks like an aggressive dog, actually snapping his jaws as if trying to bite the hunter.

Stiles is brutally reminded of what Derek truly is. He’s not human and he’s not _innocent_. He’s a werewolf with fangs and claws. There’s nothing human about the look in his eyes. He looks wild and dangerous, a threat to the human race.

 He finally looks like what he truly is: One of the monsters responsible for his mom’s death.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to scream in the comments


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: Mentions of torture (it's not very graphic, if you've seen the show you should be safe)

“See this, Stiles?” Kate asks, trying to grab Derek’s face, laughing when he tries to bite her hand off. “Does it look human to you?” She finally catches the werewolf’s jaw and squeezes until he has no choice but to open his mouth. “Come on, come closer, you won’t get many chances to see one this close without having your head ripped off, believe me.”

 Stiles hesitates, shuffling his feet, before stepping forward.

 “See, these?” She says pointing to Derek’s fangs. “They can cut right through the hardest metal in one bite.” Immediately, Derek retracts them, his face changing back to his human one. “Oh, that’s not nice,” Kate says with a pout. “Stiles, sweetie, go to the machine over there and put it on forty, will you?”

 Stiles tenses, looking from the machine to Derek in horror.

 “It’s okay, it won’t hurt him,” Kate says reassuringly. “…Much,” she adds, innocently shrugging. “See, Stiles, my family has been studying werewolves for a long time. Turns out that when a certain voltage is applied they can’t keep from changing into their true form. Turn it higher, and they don’t have the energy to transform anymore. Even higher than that, and _that’s_ when it becomes very interesting, when they can’t even heal anymore. When all their powers just,” she caresses the sides of Derek’s face and he can’t keep his eyes from flashing blue in anger “…vanish.”

 The werewolf struggles against the touch, but she’s still holding his jaw firmly and in his weakened state, he can’t do much.

 “Now turn the damn knob, will you?” She orders.

 Stiles swallows nervously before looking back down at the machine. He breathes deep, trembling, before he turns the dial until it reaches forty. When he hears Derek’s scream, Stiles closes his eyes and bites his lip until he can taste blood.

 “Good. Now come here for lesson two.” Kate calls to him. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to. He can’t do this. This is not like him; this is not what he wants to be, what he thought a hunter was. The glee in Kate’s voice is terrifying him. She looks like she’s _enjoying_ this.

 He jumps when an arm wraps around his shoulders.

 “You okay there? I know it’s a little tough for a first lesson, but that’s how you have to be with these _things_. If the situation was reversed, do you think, he…” she forces Stiles to look upon Derek grimacing wolf face, as he clenches his teeth, biting back his screams as the electricity continues to rack his body. “would show you any mercy?”

 But he did, Stiles can’t help but think. Derek _did_ show him mercy.

Kate must see the change in his expression because she chuckles.

 “Of course, he did,” she says drolly, rolling her eyes. “Got a little crush there, Derek?”

 Stiles’ eyes widen. The werewolf just glares at Kate as she drags the boy closer to him, her arm still wrapped casually around his shoulders.  

 “Oh don’t worry, I get it. Those eyes with those lips, I can totally see the appeal!” Stiles blushes, feeling very uncomfortable with the turn of events. She turns toward the young boy. “You think that makes him human? They are still animals, Stiles. Some just…” she scratches her nail down Derek’s exposed chest until she reaches his bellybutton, which in turn makes him twitch and fight against his bonds. She licks her lips before smiling at his reaction. “like to play with their food, first.”

 Stiles can’t help but jump back, leaving Kate’s embrace, as Derek suddenly surges toward them with a roar.

 “See?” Kate says with a nod, not impressed by Derek’s fury, as she turns and marches menacingly towards the machine. “Don’t get any ideas in that pretty head of yours; you were just delicious jailbait to the big bad wolf. As soon as you had given him what he wanted, he would have eaten you…” she flips the switch and Derek’s roar of rage turns to one of pain and despair “… _and_ your grandmother.”

 Stiles closes his eyes, bile rising in his throat, as the acrid smell of burning flesh suddenly fills the room.

 

 *********************

 “Hey.”

 Stiles jumps when he hears Scott’s voice.

He’s sitting on the floor of his room, his back to the bed, looking at the picture of Derek and Laura as kids.

 When he woke up this morning, his father had taken one look at him, told him to go back to bed, and then had called the school to inform them of Stiles’ absence. If that wasn’t enough of an indication that Stiles looked like hell, he didn’t know what was.

 He had spent another night unable to sleep, turning in his bed, wishing he could get Derek out of his mind. What he had witnessed Kate do to Derek, the sound of Derek’s screams; he couldn’t get the horrors of yesterday out of his head. Every time he thinks about it, he feels like throwing up again, and only his empty stomach prevents him from actually doing it.

He can try and convince himself that Derek isn’t human as much as he wants, but every time he closes his eyes, he sees little Derek smiling at him from the photograph. He wonders if Derek is still able to smile like that.

He wonders if he will ever smile again.

 Derek hadn’t talked at all despite Kate’s insistence. He hadn’t looked at Stiles either, not since they were confined within the mountain ash circle and Stiles hadn’t expected that to hurt so much.

 Scott sits on the bed beside his friend and bumps his knee into Stiles’ shoulder. The Sheriff’s son hides the photograph under his thigh, not ready or willing to explain it to his best friend.

 “You weren’t at school, I was worried.” Scott confesses.

 “Yeah, I think I’m coming down with something, I’m not feeling too well.”

 “What happened to your head?” Scott asks, pointing to Stiles’ forehead where the gash has turned yellow and blue.

 “You know me…” he offers in explanation, shrugging.

 “Stiles, I know I have been kind of…preoccupied lately, with Allison and all. But…you would talk to me if something bad was happening, right?”

 Stiles bites his lip. He wishes he could talk with his best friend, with someone, anyone really, but he can’t bring him into this. He would never risk Scott’s life just because he’s feeling like crap. He _can’t_ tell him the truth.

 “I’m fine, but thanks, man.”

 “No, you’re not!” Scott explodes, frustrated. “We’ve barely seen each other lately, and I know I didn’t make a lot of effort, but you didn’t either. It’s like…you barely talk to anyone anymore. You don’t text, you don’t Skype and you’re just…You’re not yourself anymore, Stiles. Lydia broke up with Jackson a week ago and it’s like you don’t even care.”

 Stiles’ eyebrows rise. She did? How did he miss that? The love of his life is finally single two weeks before the Winter Formal and he didn’t even know about it.

Scott must see the surprise on his face, because he gapes like a fish before pointing at him with both hands.

 “See?! You would never have missed that unless something else was on your mind,” Scott accuses. “Or _someone_ else.”

 Stiles tenses as he remembers Derek’s face.

 “Oh my god, there is?!” Scott erupts. When did his best friend become so observant anyway?

 “No, of course not, Lydia is the love of my life, you know that.”

 “And you still have two years to prove it to her. That’s your long-term plan, right? It doesn’t mean you can’t like anyone else in the meantime,” his friend flops to the floor beside him and looks at him expectantly. “Come on, tell me. Who is it?”

 “There’s no…” he closes his eyes for a second when his voice starts to break. He can’t do this, he can’t keep this in, this is too much, too _heavy_ on his mind, his heart and his conscience at the same time. “I don’t know what to do, Scott,” he confesses, biting his cheek, trying not to cry, his throat is closing up and his voice is trembling already. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be simple. Manichaean. But now it’s like everything has gone to shit and I don’t know…” his voice breaks on a sob and he hides his face in his hands, gasping for breaths.

 Immediately, Scott wraps himself around him like the giant octopus he has always been.

 “It’s going to be okay. You’ll see. Why don’t you tell me everything about this Mani…Manica? Malicka?”

 Stiles laughs into his friend’s shoulder. He sits up and wipes his face before lowering his gaze, picking at his jeans.

 “I think I made a bad choice. But the thing is, I can’t know for sure. It’s like my head thinks it was a right choice, but my heart is screaming to me how wrong it was, but the next second, my heart decides it was the _right_ choice, and suddenly my head is telling me how wrong it was, you know?” He babbles.

 He chuckles again when he sees his friend’s confused expression.

 “This girl, do you like her?”

 “I…I think I like him, yes,” Stiles admits. “But there are so many things that tell me I shouldn’t…”

 “So what?” His friend interrupts him. “Allison’s father ran me over with his car, her mom threatened to castrate me with a breadknife and I’m pretty sure her aunt is hitting on me. But somehow, I know that my place is beside Allison, you know? So I don’t care. And you shouldn’t either! It’s like…There are all these people wanting us not to be together, all those reasons why we shouldn’t be, why this shouldn’t work, but…I still want to be by her side. I don’t care what people will think or say or...or do. I know all that and I still want to be with her. I think that proves that I should, you know? If despite all the odds I still want to try and give us a chance. So I guess, the question is, do you?”

 “Wow, great speech. Did you practice on the way here or something?” He taunts.

 “Shut up. Did it help?”

 “I think it did, actually,” Stiles said, grimacing as if that is the strangest thing.

 Scott is right; he needs to follow his gut. It’s what his mom used to say too, that instincts were there for a reason and they were generally right. Right now, his instincts are screaming him that this situation is wrong.

Derek deserves a chance to prove himself, to prove that he isn’t the monster that he looks like during the full moon.

It’s not rational, and it goes against everything he believed in during the last six years, but somehow Stiles feels like he should trust him. Hell, forget about gut instincts, Derek was actually the one to save him when he got shot at by _Kate_.

 To be honest, he feels like he doesn’t know anything anymore, like there are too many unknown variables involved for him to understand what is really going on. He shouldn’t have gotten involved and now, he needs to rethink his position.

 “Are you going to tell me about it then?” Scott asks with hope.

 “Nope,” Stiles announces before standing up.

 “Come on, why is it such a secret? Oh my god, he isn’t married, is he?!”

 “What, no!” Stiles responds indignantly.

 “Is it Danny?”

 “Wow, that’s narrow-minded. There are other gay guys in the world, you know?” He teases.

 “Yeah, _you_ , apparently. How did I not know that?” Scott says with a pout, like it really hurt him that Stiles didn’t tell him about what he prefers his date to have in their pants.

 To be honest, Stiles still isn’t sure about that himself.

He used to love imagining what was under Lydia’s shirt and….yeah, no, he still likes that idea very much. But somehow, he has to admit that he likes Derek without a shirt very, very much too. And Derek’s _face_. And he wouldn’t mind getting to know a little more about what is in his p…He shakes his head to stop this train of thought. This is _so_ not the time.

 Anyway, he may like Derek’s body, but that isn’t why he’s doing this.

 Because he is. Doing this. He’s not exactly sure what _this_ is exactly, but he’s pretty sure Kate isn’t going to like it.

 “Hey, did you say Allison’s aunt was hitting on you?”

 “Yes. I have so many things to tell you, man, these last few weeks have been crazy. See, Mr. Argent invited me to dinner and…”

 “Sorry I…I’ve got to go, actually. But you can tell me all about Allison later, okay? I just…Could you go and grab a coffee with her aunt, maybe?”

 “What, like…right now?”

 “Yes, that would be awesome!” He steals Scott’s phone from his pocket and sends a quick message to Kate, asking her to meet him at the coffee shop ASAP.

 “What are you doing?!” Scott shouts, taking his phone back a second too late. “Are you crazy? Why would I do that?!”

 “You know to…get to know the family? It looks like she’s the only one approving of you so far, so you should definitely try to rally her to your side.”

 “By _dating_ her?” Wow, he didn’t know Scott’s voice could reach notes that high.

 “It’s coffee. And a bagel, maybe. You should definitely buy her a bagel, everyone likes cheese,” Stiles announces while putting on his jacket.

 “I’m not going to buy her a bage-” Scott starts to protest, cut off by his phone beeping. He looks at it and his eyes grow wide. “Oh my god she said yes!”

 “Great. Be a gentleman and she will love you, you’ll see,” Stiles declares, messing up Scott’s hair before running toward the stairs. He stops at the top of the stairs and runs back. “Scott?” Scott is still frozen in the middle of the room, gaping at his phone, mouth open and looking very confused. He looks up and Stiles smiles at him. “You’re the best, you know that, right?”

 “And you’re the _worst_!” Scott screams behind him as Stiles runs out of the house.

 

*****************************************

 Stiles gets into his car and is ready to pull out of the driveway when the passenger door opens. A stranger gets in the car and sits next to him.

 “Drive,” he commands just as Stiles is about to ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing.

 The man turns toward him and cocks an eyebrow expectantly when Stiles doesn’t obey.

 “Or do you need more incentive?”

 Stiles can only watch in terror as the man’s eyes turn red and fangs start to emerge, forming a menacing snarl.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, but I promise the next one is longer and will bring a lot of answers, so be patient and you shall be rewarded ;-)

“This better not be a joke,” the alpha growls when Stiles parks in front of the Hale house.

 “What happens after you find Derek?” Stiles inquires hesitantly.

 The alpha gives no response and gets out of the car. Stiles briefly considers just locking the car doors and driving away, but he can’t. He can’t just run away. Stiles gets out of the car.

 “You’re going to kill people, aren’t you?” Stiles asks, more a statement than a question.

 “Only the responsible ones,” the werewolf answers calmly.

 “Responsible for what?”

 “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

 “You’re the alpha.”

 “That’s just a _title_.”

 “Why are you going after Derek?” Stiles asks, confused. He refuses to play this guy’s game of ‘Guess Who’ and he doesn’t understand why the alpha would attack another werewolf, especially when he’s incapacitated and at the enemy’s mercy.

 “I’m not going _after_ Derek. My nephew has many faults, but he doesn’t deserve to die for them.”

 “Your _nephew_ ,” Stiles repeats, stunned. “But…in the woods, you…”

 “He needed to be reminded who’s in charge here, but my intention was never to kill him.”

 “You want him to be in your pack,” Stiles realizes.

 “Do you know why wolves hunt in packs? It's because their favored prey are too large to be brought down by one wolf alone. I _need_ Derek. After all, I’m only doing what he never had the guts to do himself,” Peter admits with a shrug. “Now,” Peter drawls, positioning a clawed hand around Stiles’ neck drawing him closer to whisper in his ear. “Where is my dear nephew?”

 

*********************

 “Peter?” Derek’s eyes widen with shock when he sees his uncle enter the impromptu torture chamber. “You’re the alpha,” the younger werewolf realizes. Derek looks down for a second, before his eyes are back on his uncle, the shock and surprise transforming into anger and betrayal. “ _You_ _killed_ _Laura_ ,” he accuses his voice breaking with the heavy emotion.

 “You think I killed Laura on purpose? A member of my own family?” Peter seems shocked at the idea that Derek would think that, his voice breaking on the word ‘family’. “My mind was literally burned out of me. I was driven by pure instinct.” He closes his eyes for a second, shaking his head as if remembering the scene.

 Stiles takes in his surroundings and takes a step back. This is his chance. If he wants to make a run for it, he has to do it right now while Peter’s attention is focused on Derek. He turns around and prepares to run. He doesn’t even take a step before the hand is back on his neck, making Stiles freeze and grimace as the claws dig into his skin.

 “All I’m asking for is a little understanding,” Peter continues as if Stiles wasn’t even there.

 The alpha sighs before tossing Stiles through the air like he weighs nothing. The boy crashes into the table, and the wood gives way with the force of the impact. Stiles falls to the floor amidst a flurry of splinters and wood chips. He whines when pain erupts in his shoulder.

 “Do you know what it was like for me during those years? Slowly healing, cell by cell. Even more slowly coming back to consciousness. Yes, becoming an Alpha, taking that from Laura pushed me over a plateau in the healing process. I can't help that.”

 Moaning in pain, Stiles looks up and sees that Peter is standing in front of Derek, trying to look him in the eyes. Derek is staring resolutely at the ground.

 “You have to understand, Derek,” Peter demands. “After all, we’re family. You know why I killed those people. You know that they deserved it. And there are more. It’s our mission now. I need you _with_ me.”

 The alpha puts a hand on his nephew’s cheek and Stiles can see Derek close his eyes. After a few seconds, he looks up into his uncle’s eyes and nods.

 Peter breaks the other werewolf’s bonds and helps him stand as Derek is still weak from Kate’s torture. Derek rips off the electric cables taped to his side and throws them to the ground. They land right in front of Stiles. When the boy looks up, both werewolves are looking at him.

 Shit, he was hoping that they would forget he was there.

 His heart starts to race as he looks around him desperately searching for something to defend himself with. Stiles grabs a pointy piece of wood from the broken table and tries to stand up, but before he can, something is lifting him and pressing him into the wall. He shivers in terror when Peter’s eyes flash red, only inches from his face. Claws dig into his arm and he releases his makeshift weapon.

 “Now, should we send Ms. Argent a message? I have a few ideas that would make for an especially eloquent, if not obvious, statement,” Peter proposes, smiling evilly.

 Stiles is pretty sure he starts to see his life flash before his eyes when the alpha bends down, his fangs brushing his throat. When Derek stops him, Stiles nearly pisses himself in relief, and he thanks all the gods he knows of.  

 “He’s Lisa’s son.”

 Stiles’ heart stops for a second; even his fear is forgotten as he looks at Derek in surprise. His surprise only increases when Peter releases him, his eyes as wide as those of the young boy.

 “Well, that’s an intriguing twist,” Peter admits, raising his eyebrows. He catches Stiles’ chin between two of his claws and moves his head around, studying him, as Stiles can only gasp in confusion. “Lisa did have pretty good genes. I always told her that she shouldn’t have wasted them with that sheriff of hers.”

 Stiles bats the hand away, straightening up and glaring at the man. 

 “ _You_ don’t get to say her name,” he rages.

 “Cute,” Peter scoffs. “Son, I’ve known your mother since before she was even old enough to _conceive_ you. I’ll say her name if I w-”

 “What?” Stiles interrupts, flabbergasted. That doesn’t make any sense.

 “We’ve got to go before Kate comes back,” Derek reminds his uncle, holding himself on the opposite wall, still too weak to affront his torturer.

 Peter looks at his nephew, gauging him before nodding. He winks at Stiles and pats his cheek, before going to help the other werewolf walk away.

 No, no. Stiles needs answers. There’s no way Derek is running away again. How do they know his mom? What did Peter mean? How is that _possible_?

 He runs after them and grabs Derek’s arm to stop him.

 “You have to tell me w-”

 He’s interrupted as the man suddenly turns around and Stiles is slammed once again against a wall.

 “You are seriously running out of ‘get out of this alive’ cards here,” Derek rages, glowering at him.

 “Look, I’m sorry ab…”

 “About what? Being such a pain in the ass? About _torturing_ me? Nearly getting me _killed_?” Derek shouts at him.

 “All of the above? You’ve got to underst…”

 “I’m through trying to understand you!” He slams Stiles against the wall once again before dropping him. Stiles cries in pain as he falls to the ground. “I’ve protected you out of respect for your mother, but it’s _over_. I swear,” Derek hisses, his eyes flashing blue. “You come anywhere near me again, and I willkill you.”

 With that, he turns around and storms out, limping a little.

 “Hmm. What he said,” Peter acquiesces, looking rather amused, before following his nephew. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized I had posted the un-betaed version of this chapter, so here is the edited version. Sorry you had to endure a chapter that wasn't reviewed by my awesome beta Samantha and Worsthobbitever!

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Scott says fretfully when he sees Stiles sitting on the hospital bed.

 “No I’m not. Your mom is a torturer,” Stiles grumbles as he puts his shirt back on. He grimaces at his own choice of words.

 “What happened to you? I saw this guy getting in your car and then I saw his eyes turn red and the next thing I know my mom is calling me to tell me you’re in the hospital!” Scott babbles, freaking out.

 Stiles had no idea Scott had seen Peter.

It turns out that becoming so intimately acquainted with that table earlier had been too much for his shoulder. And with all the wall slamming that had been going on, his whole body had been hurting so much he hadn’t even realized that something was actually wrong with his shoulder until he had put weight on it to jump into his jeep. Man, that had been a bad idea.

 “What? No, that guy just wanted a lift,” he lies. “I fell down the stairs.”

 “Really? Because he looked kind of creepy and I swear his eyes-”

 “Come on, Scott, don’t be stupid. Flashing red eyes, seriously?” He scoffs.

 Stiles bites his lip when he sees the hurt on his friend’s face. Scott was very insecure about his intelligence. He’d nearly had to repeat a couple of classes because of his bad grades and people – like Jackson, that asshole – didn’t hesitate to call him an idiot to his face because of it. It had always been kind of an unspoken rule that Stiles would never do it, even as a joke.

 “I’m sorry, man, I-” he starts to apologize, but is interrupted by Mrs. McCall entering with the Sheriff.

 “Scott, could you leave us alone for a few minutes, please?” The nurse asks her son gently.

 Scott nods and gets out before Stiles can actually finishing apologizing. Stiles sighs. Apparently, hating Stiles is trending today. Not that he doesn’t deserve it. And from the look on his father’s face, it’s just the beginning of his problems. Fuck.

 “Stiles, do you care to tell me what happened to your shoulder, please?” His dad asks, way too formally for it to be anything else than the beginning of a line of questioning. He’s even using his cop voice, even though it sounds like he’s trying not to.

 Time to be convincing. For once.

 “I… uh,” he flails internally for a second. “I had just gotten home and I was going to grab a glass of milk and…well, you know me, I ran a little too fast, didn’t pay attention, and fell down the stairs.”

 “When was this?”

 “I don’t know, about a hour ago? I thought it was just a bruise, you know, but then I put some pressure on it and that did not go well.”

 Stiles looks down. He hates lying to his dad. But it isn’t just a matter of protecting himself anymore; he has to protect his dad too. If what the werewolves said was true, there is a lot that Stiles and his father don’t know about his mother’s death and he is not going to get his dad involved until he knows the truth. Because if Peter and Derek knew his mom like they said they did, then there are a whole lot of things that don’t make sense anymore.

 “Okay,” his dad acquiesces. Stiles feels like sighing in relief when it looks like he believes him.

 “Can we go home now? Please?”

 “Yeah, just another little question,” the Sheriff points out. “Did you fall down the stairs before or after you got shot?”

 Stiles freezes.

 “And was it before or after _that_?” His dad demands, grabbing Stiles’ wrist, making him wince in pain. There is still a bruise from Derek’s fingers when he pulled him into the circle of mountain ash. “What about your head then? What happened to your f…frigging head, Stiles?” His father shouts.

 Stiles looks down, holding his wrist to his chest. He can’t look at his dad; Stiles doesn’t need to know how angry and disappointed he is by his lies. He doesn’t know what to say. He _can’t_ say anything. Not yet.

 He hears Mrs. McCall trying to calm his father down. She soon takes his place and approaches Stiles.

 “Stiles,” she calls gently, but Stiles can’t look up. He can’t look up and see his father’s face. He can’t. “Where did you get those bruises, Stiles?” He shakes his head. “Your back is covered in them. I couldn’t _not_ tell your father, you know that, right?” He nods. He knows he’s lucky it was Scott’s mom that treated him, that she was working tonight. Anyone else would have probably called Social Services. God, why didn’t he think of that before coming? “We’re just worried about you, honey.” He can feel tears burning in his eyes. He bites his cheek to try and force them back. “If someone is hurting you…”

 “There’s no one, I’m just clumsy, that’s all,” he repeats.

 “You’re not _that_ clumsy,” his dad intervenes, voice softer, but trembling a little.

 “The characteristics of the wound on your side seem to indicate that it was caused by a gun,” Melissa confirms.

 “It just…It was just a stupid accident, okay?” He insists, pleading with them to believe him. He wants to look away, can’t stand the devastated look on his father’s face, but he needs to convince them. “It was nothing. I promise. Nobody is hurting me, dad,” he swears, relying on half-truths.

 “You were shot, Stiles. Those kinds of accidents don’t _just_ happen.”

 “It was nothing, dad. I swear it’s not…I’m not in danger. I’m _okay_.”

 His father closes his eyes for a second before stepping in front of him.

 “Then tell me. Who was it? What happened, Stiles? I don’t…I feel like we barely talk those days. First, you dug up that body. Then you vandalize Chris’ car. And now, _this_? What is going on with you, son?”

 Stiles doesn’t answer. He can’t lie convincingly enough to persuade his father this has nothing to do with the Argents and werewolves. With freaking Derek Hale. Who’s probably recruiting all of Stiles’ friends into his  Stiles-hating club, right at this moment by the way. Scott will probably be co-president to Derek with the way he is treating him those days.

His dad brings a hand to Stiles’ cheek and wipes away a tear and it just makes Stiles want to cry harder.

 “Is this about your mom?” His dad asks softly. “Do you want us to talk about this? I know seeing Derek Hale coming back to town can’t have been easy…”

 “It has nothing to do with him,” Stiles lies again, voice weak.

 “Stiles…”

 “Please, dad. Please, just let it go,” he begs. The Sheriff shakes his head and Stiles continues reluctantly. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay? I don’t want to talk with _you_. Or with anyone. I just want to go home. I just want everybody to leave me the fuck alone,” he rants, hating himself for saying these things to his dad.

 The Sheriff takes a step back, shaking his head. He looks at Stiles for a long moment, but Stiles avoids his father’s eyes, and keeps looking at the far wall, his teeth clenched.

 “Okay. If that’s what you want. I still have to go and write a report of those injuries for the hospital. So as soon as you’re finished getting your sling, I’ll ask Deputy Charles to drive you home. You’re grounded, so I expect you to stay there until further notice, is that clear?” The Sheriff dictates in a severe tone.

 Stiles nods his agreement, using his forearm to scrub another tear away.

 “All right then,” his dad concludes, disappointed. He sighs and looks at him for a few more seconds before leaving the room. Mrs. McCall follows him out.

  

**************************

 He’s so exhausted physically and emotionally that he sleeps until late the next afternoon.

 When he wakes up, his dad isn’t home. There’s no note, no email, no “get better” text message and no missed call from anyone. He opens his fridge and finds that the usual meal, when he’s home sick from school, of a turkey sandwich and tomato soup are missing too. Stiles doesn’t feel like eating anything, but he can’t remember the last time he actually ate, isn’t even sure it happened during the last twenty hours or so, so he forces himself to munch on some dry cereal before taking his Adderall and the painkiller for his sprained shoulder.

 He takes a shower and lingers under the warmth of the water. It almost makes his shoulder feel better. His whole body hurts.

 It’s already getting dark outside when he climbs the narrow staircase to the attic. He remembers that his dad never got around to fixing the broken light bulb in there and has to goes back down to find a flashlight. But eventually Stiles winds up sitting in front of a pile of cardboard boxes and just stares at them for a while.

 His dad had only kept a few meaningful objects belonging to Stiles’ mother. Her clothes were given to the Salvation Army and what remained could fit into these three boxes. He’s never looked inside them. When he was little, the wounds were still too fresh for him to want to open them up by coming up here. They were still his mom’s things and a little voice in his head was telling him that she wouldn’t want him to rummage through them. Later, he had become too scared that he would open those boxes and not recognize anything inside of it. He was too scared to realize how much of her he had forgotten.

 At first, there were just those three boxes in the attic, but as the years passed, the Stilinski boys would add more and more things up there. A lamp that was so ornate that it kept reminding them that there wasn’t a feminine presence in the house anymore. The bright orange sweater that she hand-knitted for her son because it was supposed to bring out his eyes, but ended up being too small and made him look like a pumpkin. A comb that has fallen under the bathroom counter, they had found it months later and couldn’t throw it away. A pillow that has stopped smelling like her. A pasta and glue monstrosity that Stiles had intended to be a jewelry box, her last mother day’s gift.

 Everything in here was hers, everything is a reminder of her, but it is also the reminder of the Sheriff and his son’s pain, of how they couldn’t deal with the mere presence of such things that they just literally hid them away so they wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of losing their loved one anymore, of being reminded of a time when she was still there. It never worked, they could put the whole house up there and it would still hurt so damn much. But they kept doing it, kept pretending that if they put a few knick knacks up there and locked the door, the pain it caused would stay there too.  The Stilinski men were big fans of just ignoring the problem until eventually it went away, hoping it wouldn’t come back later to bite them in the ass.

 Now sitting in the middle of all those reminders, Stiles wipes his tears on the sleeve of his hoodie, takes a deep breath and grabs the first box. He can’t ignore these memories any longer. His mother had secrets that he can’t ignore anymore. He needs to discover what she was really doing at the Hale house the day she died.

He needs to know, he needs to understand _why_ she died that night.

 He spends hours searching through the boxes. As he had feared, there are a lot of things in there that he feels like he has never seen before, that he’s totally forgot. But sometimes, he would uncover an object that would bring back a memory. He is reminded of a whole day at the beach, at the fair, gardening or even just lazing around the house, his mom wearing those old Tom & Jerry slippers.

 Sometimes it just brings back an image, a sound, a smell. His mom.

 How could he have forgotten those Russian dolls that he used to tirelessly play with as his mom would…Stiles blinks, worrying at the memory. What was his mom doing? He can’t remember that part. He can see himself as a toddler, playing on the ground with the dolls, pulling them all out, lining them up, and then nesting them away into the biggest one. He can hear his mom asking him not to lose the tiniest one, every single time. But he would always lose it anyway and his mom would end up on all fours trying to find it. He used to hide it behind his back sometimes, just to tease her. She loved those dolls, and so did he.

When he would ask her how she got them, she would tell him a tale about a Russian mobster or a little girl that sold matches or, once, how they were once actually real people that an evil queen had cursed – transforming them into dolls forever. This story had freaked Stiles out so much that he used to wake up at night, crying, having dreamt that he had been changed into the tiniest doll.

Now sitting on the attic ground, he removes them slowly, delicately, one by one, savoring the memories coming back to him. He lines them up on the ground as he used to do, from the biggest to the smallest. He smiles, nostalgic, and admires them for a long moment, rolling the tiniest doll between his fingers. He leaves the dolls there, next to him, as he goes back to his research.

 The last box contains photo albums, yet another thing he and his father avoided looking at. They had each kept their favorite pictures of Lisa. There are a few family photos and some of Stiles’ baby pictures on the wall, but they barely see those anymore, they’ve become a part of the décor with time. They would never take those pictures down, but they had never dared to search for more of them either.

 He looks at the pictures of his parents’ wedding, then his birth and _way_ too many pictures of him naked in the next three albums. He has been hyperactive since he was two – officially diagnosed as ADHD-C at five - and for a few years there, he had considered putting on clothes as a waste of time. He would just jump out of the bath and run around the house, butt naked, until his dad managed to catch him. And, well, he isn’t proud of his nudist exploits, but he used to have a thing against bathing suits too, so until he was six – oh my god _six_ – a day at the beach or the swimming pool would soon turn into little Stiles’ exhibitionism parade.

 Wow, he didn’t mind forgetting about _that_.

 He’s still chuckling a little, embarrassed at his younger self, when he puts the album down to look at the next one. He lets it fall open in his lap, expecting to see another humiliating photo of himself when suddenly Derek frigging Hale is looking right back at him from the album.

The breath stops in the middle of his throat, making him cough and gasp for air.

The album is open to one of its middle pages and right there in the center, Derek is frozen, smiling at the camera. He’s only a little kid, not more than five or six years old, but there’s no doubt about his identity.

 Little Derek Hale is sitting on his mother’s fucking lap.

 Stiles snaps the album shut, closes his eyes and starts to focus on his breathing, trying to slow down his heart that is beating so fast that it’s making his whole body shake in shock. But he can’t, he can’t calm down. He doesn’t understand, but he _needs_ to.  

 He bites his lip and opens the first page of the album slowly, not sure of what he’s going to see.

The pictures on the front page seem really old, the image grainy and a little blurred. The first picture shows four kids standing in a garden, two girls and two boys. He recognizes his mother on the far right. She’s one of the youngest and she’s wearing white shorts and a pink tank top. She’s holding a red ball under one arm while the other arm is wrapped around the shoulder of another girl that looks to be about the same age. Stiles has no idea who the other kids are, but as he looks at that girl with black curly hair and light eyes, he can’t help but feel some kind of tingling at the back of his mind like he should be making a connection here, but it’s slow to come to mind. There are a few other pictures of his mom with those kids, mostly with the other little girl  –’Naomi’ is written on top of one  - as they grow up a little more from picture to picture.

 He stops at a photo from his mom’s prom. Stiles looks at it closely, his mom is wearing a bright yellow dress of monstrous proportions. Her chestnut hair is styled in one of those ridiculous hairdos from the end of the eighties. There’s a boy standing next to her, one of his arms around her waist and smiling smugly at the camera. Stiles squints, the tingling feeling increasing in the back of his mind. It’s one of the boys from the first picture, he’s sure of it, but Stiles recognizes the boy from elsewhere. That smile, those blue eyes, that jawli…Stiles gasps when suddenly Peter Hale’s face comes to mind. He’s at least twenty years younger, but now that he’s thought of it, Stiles is sure it’s him. The alpha was his mom’s date at her prom. Peter frigging Hale used to date _his mom_. He ignores the way the air seems to vanish from the room, and starts frantically turning page after page, scanning the pictures quickly. Peter, Lisa and the other boy and girl at the beach. In an old car. At fucking _Disneyland_ for god’s sake.

 As he continues to flip through the pictures, the other man starts to appear familiar to Stiles too. He has brown hair, hazel eyes hidden under ample eyebrows, and a dimple when he smiles. Stiles frowns, his first thought was that Peter and this guy must have been Naomi’s brothers, but it looks like that guy started _dating_ Naomi at some point, which is very confusing until Stiles sees a picture of Naomi and his mom holding their college diplomas. He squints at Naomi’s and notices that her surname wasn’t Hale, which is a _huge_ relief. His mother being friends with werewolves is shocking enough without the side of incest. Hell, his mother having dated _Peter Hale_ will probably scar him for the rest of his life.

 The four look happy for a few more pictures until suddenly Peter starts to appear less frequently in the pictures, not hugging or kissing his mom anymore – thank god for _that_.

 There’s a picture of his mom and the other girl, in their early twenties, maybe very late teens. They’re sitting Indian style on the ground, looking at magazines. Naomi isn’t smiling like in the other pictures. She looks paler, tired, and less relaxed than usual. Next to her, his mom is smiling widely; pointing at what Stiles suddenly realizes is her friend’s slightly rounded stomach.

 It looks like it’s the last picture that was taken of his mom with the Hales for a while.

 In the next picture, his mom is a little older. Her hair is very short, in the hairstyle she adopted while she was pregnant with him because she couldn’t stand having her usual long hair in the warmth of the summer. She kept her hair like that for a couple years, until Stiles got out of his grabby hands phase and she could let her hair grow out without having to worry about her son scalping her, one lock of hair at a time.

In the picture, she’s kneeling next to a little girl with brown hair as the girl draws. His mom is hugging a little boy that’s trying to climb onto her back.

 Stiles turns the page and there it is again, the picture of that same little boy that he recognized as five year old Derek. He’s sitting up in his mother’s lap, smiling as Lisa’s arms are around him, her lips kissing the top of his head.

 It’s only when a tear falls on the next picture that Stiles realizes he’s crying.

 His mom is sitting in the same chair, so the next picture must have been taken the same day. Now that Derek is not on her lap anymore, Stiles can see that she was pregnant at the time, probably later in her pregnancy judging by the size of her belly. Little Derek is kneeling in front of her, one hand of each side of her belly and his ear against it as if listening in. One of Lisa’s hands is in Derek’s hair, her other arm is behind a little girl standing next to her. The girl is smiling widely showing off her two missing front teeth. Behind his mom, Naomi is standing with one hand on Lisa’s shoulder and a curly hair toddler in the other.

  It looks like a family photo. Like a family album.

 But if this is true, if his mother was like family to the Hales, why did neither he nor his father know them?

 He goes through the rest of the album, and is surprised when he sees a few pictures of himself as a toddler with those people. There’s even one or two where Derek is _holding him_ for god’s sake, so how didn’t he know that? Why? He notices that there is no picture of his father though, or of anyone else for that matter. There’s a few with what looks to be Peter’s parents as they seem to live in the same house – Stiles knows they died in that house too. There are a couple of shots of Naomi and her husband. Then there’s another couple that Stiles identifies as Robert Hale, Peter’s much older brother, and his wife. There are even some pictures with Peter, sometimes he has a girlfriend, but never the same one twice.

 Stiles closes the album and brings his knees to his chest. Peter and Derek were telling the truth. They knew Stiles’ mother. And from how it looks, they may have known her better than Stiles.

How could she have hid this? Why? She must have known about werewolves, there was no way she had spent her whole life with these people and never knew what they really were. She knew about werewolves, she was friends with werewolves, family. She was _pack_ , Stiles realizes.

 His mom was part of the Hale pack. That’s why she died. She wasn’t kidnapped or held hostage, she was there voluntarily. Kate must have lied. Kate…Stiles closes his eyes when the truth comes to him and this time, he can’t avoid the panic attack that comes with it.

 The Hales didn’t kill his mom.

  _Kate_ did. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know I said that I would post this mid-week but I was super busy and couldn't find the time to do so :-/

“Lahey! Lahey! Where the hell is Lahey?” Coach Finstock is yelling.

 Silence fills the room. Awkward looks are exchanged as everybody waits for somebody else to work up the nerve to answer the coach – before Finstock makes them all run suicides. It’s a game of chicken – lacrosse team style.  Greenberg crumbles, and gestures for the coach to follow him so they can talk in private.

 Stiles watches the scene, slightly confused, before following the rest of the group as they exit the locker room and head out onto the field.

 “What was that about?” He asks Scott, sitting next to him on their precious bench.

 It had taken a little groveling, a breakfast burrito, a new videogame and a promise to give him a ride every morning for two weeks, but Scott had finally forgiven him. To be honest, the other boy was so incapable of holding a grudge that the burrito would have probably been enough, but Stiles had felt like shit for the way he had treated his friend.

 “You didn’t hear?”

 “Hear what?” He asks, his teeth chattering.

 It’s _crazy_ cold and he’s only wearing his Lacrosse uniform. He left the sling at home today, but hasn’t really reached the point in his recovery that playing would be a good idea. Finstock hadn’t cared though and still made him put on his uniform, even though it took him twice as long since he still couldn’t move his shoulder around very much.

 “Isaac’s dad is dead,” Scott says, gauging him, probably surprised that the Sheriff didn’t tell anything to Stiles. Truth is, those days, the only times Stiles’s dad talk to him it’s to remind him he’s grounded and to give him chores. The teenager keeps a low profile and obeys; secretly glad he has an excuse to stay home and housework to focus on. “They think it was another animal attack, but apparently your dad discovered that he was abusing Isaac, like beating him up and stuff. So they’ve brought Isaac in for interrogation.”

 Isaac’s dad was the one hurting him? Shit, he totally forgot he had promised his dad that he would try to talk to Isaac. And now Mr. Lahey is dead. But why would Peter, and probably Derek too at this point, kill him? Stiles thought they were going after _Kate._ But again, Peter attacked the school bus driver too. He mentioned that he was killing the people responsible, but responsible for what? The fire? He hadn’t thought about it before, but Stiles suddenly realizes that Kate couldn’t have brought down nine people by herself, so she must have had help.

But that still didn’t make any sense. Mr. Lahey was the swimming team coach at the time of the fire. Why would Kate ask a high school coach to be her accomplice? But who else would have wanted to hurt Mr. Lahey? Maybe there really was an animal attacking people? An _actual_ mountain lion? Yeah, _right_.

Stiles thinks back to Peter’s beta and the way he seemed familiar. Could Isaac be…

 “Wow, there is actual smoke coming out of your ears. Don’t sprain your brain too, dude,” Scott mocks. “What are you thinking about?”

 “Nothing. Just…wild animals killing people. That sucks,” he remarks.

 “Not so long ago you wanted to actually see the body…” Scott reminds him. 

 “Yep, and wasn’t _that_ a bad idea.”

 Look at his life now. Geez, worst idea ever.

Yet again, if he had a chance to go back in time, would he choose to not go out to the woods that night? Scott wouldn’t have lost his inhaler; Stiles wouldn’t have met Derek and gotten sucked into this whole situation. But he would have probably never known the truth about his mom’s death either. As much as it hurts now, he doesn’t know if he would be happier living in ignorance. His mom wouldn’t have wanted him to believe people that she obviously loved were monsters.

Yet again, if she wanted him to care about those people she wouldn’t have hid them from her actual family, he reflects, a little bitter.

He doesn’t like the idea of his mom having this secret life outside of their home. It’s probably petty, but he thought he and his dad were the only people in her life, and now he’s discovered that he was sharing her affections with this whole group of other people and he didn’t even know about it. His mom and his dad were every thing to him. Stiles knows that his dad felt similarly. It seems kind of unfair that his mom would have another family on the side and keep them to herself. Not that he wishes he grew up with Derek or anything, just…Yeah, it’s just weird.

 “Stiles about…about that guy you like. How is it…you know…going?” Scott asks hesitantly.

 “Oh.” Stiles looks down at his glove-covered hands. “I think that ship has sunk.”

 And exploded at the bottom of the sea in a thousand broken pieces.

You can’t really do any worse than having your crush hating your guts and threatening to kill you, can you? Not that it was a _crush_. It wasn’t. It so wasn’t. Derek is just hot, okay? And kind of nice in a very moody kind of way. And okay, now that he’s pretty sure that Derek isn’t actually a psychotic supernatural murderer, Stiles would have liked to know more about the guy. Maybe even asked him a question or two – or a million – about his mom. But when he tried to check his GPS tracker, it had been deactivated. So either Derek discovered it and now hates him even more for being such a stalker or his phone had been destroyed at some point.

 “Oh, that sucks.”

 “Yeah, but it’s okay. Really. Not like there was anything going on anyway. Just another case of the unrequited love adventures of Stiles Stilinski, you know?” He shrugs off, trying to poke fun at his love life.

 “Well, you know, speaking of Lydia…I mean, if you’re still interested in her,” Scott hesitates a second.

 “You know I’ll always be interested in Lydia. Come on! Spit it out! What is it?” Stiles encourages, curious.

 “Okay okay. Then I kind of have like the best news _ever_ for you,” Scott announces bouncing a little in his seat.

 “Oh my god, Lydia is going to propose to me and I’ll have her perfect little genius babies?” He crosses his fingers like he’s actually wishing for this possibility.

 “Close!”

 “What?” Stiles blinks, surprised.

 “She has accepted your invitation to go to the Winter Formal with you!” Scott declares proudly, a goofy smile on his face.

 “She…What?...But…,” he gapes, at a lost for words. “I didn’t even ask her!”

 “Do you have the best friend ever or what?”

 “W…What?” He repeats. How is this happening? When? _What?_

 Scott seems a little put out by his response and Stiles pulls himself together.

 “I mean yes! Yes! Man, you’re the best friend in the whole frigging universe!” He exclaims, hugging his friend. Scott hugs him back, excited too.

 “Are you two ladies going to get on the field or do you want me to bring you tea and invite the queen of England?” Jackson mocks them, throwing a ball right between their _faces._

 

 **********************

 When he sees Lydia and Allison watching the lacrosse practice from the bleachers, he goes to them with a wide dopey smile on his face.

 “Hey ladies!”

 He sits down next to Lydia, ignoring the way she slides a little farther away from him.

 Allison smiles at him as she asks him how his shoulder is healing and berates the coach for trying to force him to play. Stiles’ cry when he tried to catch the ball may have not been very manly, but at least it convinced Finstock to give him a break. Well, it was more of a ‘go sit back on your damn bench, I don’t want little girls on my team’ than real compassion, but Stiles will take it if it gives him a chance to talk to the girl of his dreams...Well, the dreams he used to have until a few weeks ago, that is.

Lately, Lydia has been involuntarily replaced by a person with way more muscles and a constant frown marring his magnificent features in the recurring role of his sweetest dreams. But he’s not going to even think about that. Nope. Lydia Martin may not be the woman of his actual dreams these days, but she still is the woman of his life. And he’s just that much closer to make her realize that.

Stiles isn’t even bummed out when her response to his question about their color coordination for the Winter Formal is answered by:

 “Let’s be clear, this isn’t a date. I could have gone with anyone I wanted. But I’m not interested in dating some stupid teenager still marvelling at his three first chest hairs. Not after that Jackson fiasco,” she admits bitterly. “So, I’m going with you as a favor to _Allison_ ,” she explains with a big fake smile. “I expect you to drive me to and from the formal, make me dance, bring me drinks after checking that they aren’t spiked with anything disgusting and tell me how pretty I am when I’m least expecting it. You try anything inappropriate, and I’ll make your life a living hell. Is that clear?”

 Lydia is as beautiful as she is scary. She is the most perfect girl _ever_.

  

***********************

 Stiles is still trying to get out of his lacrosse gear when a voice behind him nearly gives him a heart attack.

 “Need any help there, sweetie?”

 He freezes and turns around, noticing for the first time that all the other guys have left the locker room. Geez, thanks for offering to help, guys. He gulps, eyes wide, as Kate approaches him.

 “Here. Let me,” Kate starts to untie the laces of his shoulder pads.

 Stiles can only watch her, trying to hide his terror. He tries to reassure himself by reminding himself that she doesn’t know that he’s discovered everything. She doesn’t know _anything_.

 “So, did you hear the news?” The hunter remarks casually.

 “Wh…what news?”

 “Oh, you didn’t?” She feigns surprise. “Oh yeah, I forgot. We were the only ones that knew that Derek Hale was locked in that basement, weren’t we?” She’s eerily calm as she removes his left shoulder pad and moves to unlace the one on his injured shoulder. Stiles tenses, expecting pain to follow. 

 “I…He’s not anymore?”

 She smiles at him knowingly.

 “Lift your arm,” she asks innocently, ready to take the pad off. He tries to do so and winces when he can’t raise it more than a few inches. She looks at his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “You okay there? It looks like you hurt your shoulder, sweetie. You didn’t happen to fall on any tables recently, did you?” She adds in a syrupy sweet voice. Before Stiles can react, she pushes him and he fall back on the bench. He tries to sit up, but she presses on his injured shoulder and he cries out, lying back.

 “I wasn’t…The alpha forced me to!” He protests.

 “Oh,” she pouts, swinging her leg over so she straddles his waist. “Did he now?”

 “Yes. He did. I swear! He jumped into my car and threatened to kill me unless I brought him to Derek. I couldn’t do anything!” Well, that part was true. The fact that he was going to go free the werewolf himself at that time is just an unimportant detail.

 “I supposed the alpha also forced your little friend Scott to distract me then, didn’t he?”

 He hesitates for a second and she sees through his lie before he has time to even say it.

 “I had such high hopes for you,” she laments, caressing his cheek, making him shiver in fear when he realizes the position they are in. “My own little apprentice,” she coos. Stiles tries to look around to see if he can grab something to fend her off. But Kate is leaning heavily on his injured shoulder and the pain is paralyzing him. “But I guess you’re just as much of a werewolf bitch as your mother was,” she finishes coldly.

 He freezes for a second at the mention of his mom. In the next, he has thrown Kate on the ground in his rage. He’s about to hit her – woman or not she _killed his mom_ – but she grabs his wrist and, in one expert move, he’s on the ground and she’s straddling him again.

 “So I guess you _do_ know about that, huh? I had a feeling,” she admits triumphantly. “Let’s be honest here, Derek is hot, but he’s not that good in the sack to buy this sort of loyalty.”

 His eyes widen in shock and he stops struggling for a second. How would she know _that_?

 Stiles struggles harder, trying to throw her off, but she grabs his hands and pins his arms over his head. He cries out in pain again when the move strains his shoulder.

 “Oh come on, stop being a little bitch, will you? I’m not going to kill the Sheriff’s son in broad daylight in the fucking high school locker room.”

 He stops for a second, having expected exactly that.

 “It’s not in my best interest to kill you,” she explains. “On the contrary, I have the feeling that you could be very _very_ ,” she leans closer to his face, brushing her nose against his cheek to whisper in his ear, “Serviceable.”

 He shivers again, and she laughs. He closes his eyes for a second and she’s suddenly standing up, smiling down at him.

 “Go to your little dance, Stiles. Have fun!” She encourages with a smile. “I’ll contact you when you’re,” she pauses, licking her teeth provocatively. “Needed.”

 Kate stops with her hand on the door handle, looking back at him in a condescending manner.

 “Oh, and it goes without saying that you better not say anything about this to anyone. I would hate to be the one to make you an orphan,” she looks up for a second, as if thinking, before admitting. “Or not. Actually, I wouldn’t care that much. But I’m sure, your _dead dad_ would.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

Stiles breathes deeply, his head resting on his car’s steering wheel, trying to motivate himself. He sits up and stares balefully at the burnt remnants of the Hale house.

Just looking at this house is creeping him out. That’s where his mom died. Where she was _killed_. He would give anything not to have to go inside it, just drive away and pretend this place doesn’t exist. But he doesn’t have a choice, he needs to do it. For his mom.

 It’s only mid afternoon and the sun is still bright, but Stiles knows that at this time of year, it would be dark soon.

He can’t stall anymore, because going in there in the dark seems a thousand times worse than going in now, when it’s still broad daylight.

 He had spent the last few days doing research, trying to find everything he could on the Argents and the Hales.

He didn’t know what to do, he was lost, and researching stuff always made him feel like he had some control. ‘Knowledge is the greatest power’ and all that.

 So he spent a lot of time poring over old local newspapers at Beacon Hill’s public library. He had discovered that Hales and the Argents had been living in Beacon Hills for a long time.  In his research, he had discovered that there was a history of tension between the families – with deaths on both sides.  Nothing was explicitly covered in the newspapers, but reading between the lines, there was a lot of information to be discovered. You had the secretive Hales who were steadily acquiring huge tracts of land. And the Argents who were very involve in the town’s expansion, like, for example, in the construction of the town hospital – for their own benefit, perhaps. And deaths. Lots of deaths – more than was normal in a town the size of Beacon Hills.

Things eventually grew calm – a sign of an armistice between the two families, perhaps? Stiles even discovered that an Argent had been his dad’s boss and friend, back when he was just the Sheriff’s deputy.

 Stiles could only discover so much by reading between the lines though, and he couldn’t leave it at that.

He needed to know what his mother’s role was in all that, why didn’t she tell them anything? What about his dad? He knows his dad never knew about werewolves, so he mustn’t have known that his boss was a hunter, but was it why his mom never told him anything about her friendship with the Hales?

 He hates the idea that his mom wouldn’t have trusted his dad. He _hates_ it.

 Reading about all those deaths, about how long this war between the Argents and the Hales had been going on made him realize how over his head he was about this whole situation.

 He didn’t know who was good and who was bad anymore. He was lost.

 The only thing Stiles was sure of was that his mom wouldn’t have loved the Hales as much as she seemed to if they really were monsters.

Sure, they seemed to use to turn a lot of people to fight on their side in the beginning of the 1900s, but that was war and at least two generations before his mom and Naomi were born.

There must have been a reason for the Argents and Hales to stop fighting. Chris Argent told him about a code, that they weren’t killing those who didn’t hurt people. That must have meant that the Hales had stopped hurting people at some point.

Their pack wasn’t that big after the pact, just Naomi’s family and Derek’s. By the time of the fire, they weren’t a menace anymore; they weren’t hurting anyone, Stiles is sure of it because his mom would have had nothing to do with them if that was the case. He _knows_ that. Despite all her secrets, Stiles knows she was a _good_ person.

 And yet, Kate killed them?

And now she is trying to manipulate him, probably into helping her kill the last survivors of the fire. But he won’t do that, he _never_ would.

Problem was: did that mean that he needs to take Peter’s side? It seemed that they are only two sides in that war, and he doesn’t like either of his options.

 Kate Argent killed his mother, is a scary bitch, and a serious jailbait creeper.

 Peter Hale has admitted himself that he wasn’t all there in his head, had killed his own niece and, oh yeah, is a scary supernatural monster with red fucking eyes and claws.

 Stiles will destroy Kate. He doesn’t care if it took him the rest of his life, he will find a way to bring her down for what she did to his mom.

But that doesn’t mean he has to become the alpha’s ally, right? The guy tried to kill him for god’s sake! _Twice._

 Avenging your family was one thing, and Stiles was all up for that, but attacking teens in the woods? Threatening to use them to send an ‘eloquent message’? And what about Isaac, or whoever the beta was? Did he even have a say before Peter changed him into his personal lapdog?

Stiles has read enough on the alpha/beta dynamic to know that this guy would have no choice but to obey Peter. The older Hale didn’t just change his life, he had _taken control_ of it for his own benefit - because he needed another foot soldier in his vendetta, because he needed more power, he needed _a pack_. 

 And now, Stiles is right in the middle of that.

 Two bloodthirsty armies, the beginning of a war, and he is right in the fucking middle.

 No, he reminds himself, this isn’t the beginning of a war, it seems this war has been going on forever. It just came back to life the day Kate Argent burned the Beacon Hills’ pack to the ground.

 In _this_ house, Stiles thinks, sitting up and looking at the wreck in front of him.

 He may need to pick a side, but he’s decided that the two town psychopaths aren’t his only choice. He can have his own side, choose his own allies. All he need is to find people to rally to him. His own pack. His own team - psychopath free. Or well, it isn’t like the list of viable candidates for Team Stiles is very long, so he will tolerate psychopath light or ‘Derek Hale’ as he’s better known as. 

 This is the only way to make this right.

 Well, if the first phase of his recruiting campaign doesn’t get him killed, that is. There’s still a fifty-fifty chance at this point – a little voice whispers ninety-ten from the back of his head, but he ignores it.

 He takes a deep breath and gets out the car.

 “Derek!” He starts shouting, looking around. “Derek, I know you’re here! Please, I need to talk to you!”

 He grimaces when he thinks of the last time he told him that, and the shitload of problems that brought them.

He hears a sound coming from inside of the house, and his heart starts to pick up pace and his hands start getting clammy. He waits for a few minutes, but nothing more happens.

 “Derek!” He calls again. “Please, don’t make me come inside of this house,” he begs under his breath.

 He runs a hand over his face when he realizes that he doesn’t have another choice. If Derek won’t come out, Stiles needs to go in. He takes a step toward the front porch, eyes fixed on the door, begging it to open, begging Derek to step out, so Stiles doesn’t have to go in. He can feel his shirt sticking to the cold sweat on his back, as he trembles from cold and anxiety.

 “Derek, please! I’m sorry, okay?” He tries one last time, standing in front of the front door. He feels like his legs are just going to give out under him. Jeez, he’s not going to pass out, is he? No, no. He’s not. He can do it.

 He pushes the door open and the grinding noise that goes along with it seems straight out of a horror movie. Stiles leans forward a little, looking inside without actually _stepping_ inside.

The rays of afternoon sun light up the dark interiors, revealing remains of burned furniture and walls that are basically falling apart.

 “Derek?” He asks, uncertain now. Maybe he just wasn’t there after all; maybe Stiles should just come back another time?

 He closes his eyes for a second, refusing to give up. He won’t let his fears stop him this time. Stiles can’t fight, he can’t shoot a gun, he doesn’t have claws, or fangs, or super strength, but he knows how to talk. And he would talk Derek to death if he had to – or until Derek killed him, which seems more plausible - but he’s not going to give up, not until he has no other choice, not until he gets what he wants. He may not be the bravest or the toughest guy around, but he sure is the most stubborn one.

 He holds his head up high and steps inside. He takes a few steps, looking around. His eyes are drawn to a ray of light that illuminates the middle of the living room. He blinks and he can suddenly see his mom sitting at a table that used to be right there. She used to sit there for the whole afternoon, chatting with Naomi. He remembers now. There used to be one of those big Tunisian carpets in the middle of the room. He would sit on it with his toys. He closes his eyes for a second and can practically hear the voice of the women again. He concentrates harder and a smell comes back to him, it used to smell like tea, like those fruity natural teas and…and wood floor polish?

 A creaking sound from another room pulls him out of his memories.

 “Derek?”

 Why is he starting to feel like he’s the stupid girl in the opening scene of a horror movie just before the axe murderer jumps out of nowhere? Damn, he always thought he wouldn’t be that girl. Guy. Whatever. He never thought that he would be stupid enough to be that _character_ that stays when everything is telling them to run the fuck away. He used to hope that he would at least be the comic relief of that movie genre.

 “Derek? Please, tell me you didn’t bring an axe,” he squeaks, taking a step back towards the entrance. All of his instincts are telling him to run away and he’s starting to think that they are smarter than his actual brain.

 “Der-” he shuts up at a hissing sound followed by a solid thud.

 He looks over his right shoulder and discovers that the noise was a fucking arrow passing right next to his left ear and planting itself into the wall behind him. He ducks down and looks around but sees no one. And, seriously, he is one arrow past the point where his curiosity would win over his instincts. Instead, he takes a deep breath and makes a beeline for the front door as fast as he can. He hears a few of those telltale hissing sounds, but thank god, feels no sudden pain.

He exits through the front door and fuck why did he park his jeep so far away?! He can hear footsteps behind him and Stiles jumps down the porch. A car stops between him and his jeep, still two hundred feet away, and he crashes into it, not able to stop running fast enough, his shoulder hitting the side of the car.

 “Get in!”

 Stiles opens the door and jumps into the car headfirst. The car peels out, passenger door closing with the force of the acceleration. By the time Stiles turns to check who the hell his savior is, they are already half a mile away and going faster than his poor jeep could ever hope to go without exploding.

He sighs heavily in relief when he sees Derek sitting next to him. Following your instincts is great in the heat of the moment, but he would have been bummed out to discover that he had just jumped into Kate’s car. Or Peter’s. Or anyone’s that wasn’t Derek’s, for that matter. Except maybe Scott, but Scott doesn’t even have a car, so the point is kind of moot…

 “What the hell did you think you were doing?” Derek shouts at him.

 Oh how he missed this angry voice, he thought he would never hear it again. Adrenaline must be pumping the good endorphins into his system right now, because he really feels like hugging Derek.

 “God, man, you saved me, you can’t imagine…”

 “Yes, I can. In fact, this is exactly what I thought would happen,” Derek interrupts him, grinding his teeth.

 Yeah, adrenaline probably explains why he dares lay a hand on the werewolf’s shoulder, still dizzy with relief.

 “No but you…” Stiles starts protesting. The car brutally comes to a stop and Stiles’ forehead smashes into the dashboard.

 Before he can completely sit up, a hand is on his head, pressing the right side of his face against the passenger window.

 “I told you to stay out of this!” Derek hisses into his ear.

 “I tried! Damn it, oww!” He cries out, repeating a litany of ‘ow’ until the other man lets him go. Stiles shakes his head, and rubs at his face. He touches his sore forehead, but thank god it seems there is only going to be a lump there. “You could have killed me!” He accuses, offended.

 “As I _should_ ,” the other man reminds him, looking like he’s having difficulty stopping himself from doing just that.

 “Yeah well, I am tired of getting thrown around, okay? Do you know how many fucking bruises…”

 “Am I supposed to _care_?”

 Stiles gapes at him.

 “You know what, forget it,” Stiles declares, grabbing the door handle to get out. Just as he is about to pull it, the doors automatically lock themselves.

 “Forget what? What dumb thing are you planning to do now?” Derek asks brusquely.

 Stiles glares at Derek before diving to press the button on the driver’s side that unlocks the door. Derek catches his hand, then his other hand when Stiles gives it another try.

 “Let me go,” he hisses, struggling against the werewolf’s hold.

 He is _pissed._

 He is fucking _done_ with everyone treating him like shit, thinking that just because they are stronger than him that gives them the right to throw him around. Well he’s not having any of that anymore, okay? If they want to give him hell, they can bring it on, but he’s certainly not going to make it _easy._

 He doesn’t know which of them is more shocked when, somehow, during his frenetic attempt to free himself, he manages to hit Derek square in the face. With his _foot._

Annnnnd he’s pretty sure he just broke the man’s nose, judging by the crack that he just heard. Derek immediately releases him and Stiles freezes in shock, assessing the situation.

Somehow, his right foot has ended up on the wheel and his left one is on Derek’s lap. He jumps back as soon as he realises that, bringing his knees under his chin, his back against the passenger door. He can’t help but look, wide eyed, at the blood pouring out into Derek’s hand as he holds his nose. He seems more flabbergasted than in pain, though.

 They blink at each other for a while.

 Finally, Derek sighs. He lets go of his nose and lifts the bottom of his shirt to wipe the blood away – and Stiles is so not looking at those ripped abs. He’s not! By the time Derek allows his shirt to fall and cover his belly again, there’s no trace of any injury anymore, his nose already healed.

Damn, Stiles could use those kinds of healing abilities.

 When Derek turns toward him and lifts an expectant eyebrow, Stiles suddenly remembers that he was actually trying to run away. He sits back and throws a glance outside. It’s starting to snow and it’s getting dark outside. Now that he has calmed down a little, he realizes how stupid running away would have been. He wouldn’t even know in which direction to go, Derek has stopped on an unknown unpaved road in the middle of the woods and there are men with fucking bows and arrows out there.

 “What about my jeep?” Stiles asks, suddenly remembering that he had abandoned her near the Hale house. He loves his baby, but he is _never_ going near that house again.

 “I’ll get it for you,” Derek offers, as if reading his thoughts.

 “Thanks,” Stiles mumbles, looking at his lap. How can that guy manage to be such an asshole and nice at the same time? “So, who were they?”

 “Argent’s men. They have been camping inside the house for a few days now, waiting for me.”

 “Oh but…” He frowns. “Why did they try to shoot _me_?”

 “What, you thought they were going to welcome you with tea and biscuits?”

 Sarcastic asshole.

 “Your mom used to,” he says without meaning to.

 Derek turns toward him, lips pinched and eyes intense.

 “You remember.”

 It’s not a question, said barely loud enough for Stiles to hear it. He nods and answers anyway.

 “Not much. I think I was too little to. W…why did I stop coming there?” He can’t help asking. It’s been one of the questions on the front of his mind for days now.

 Derek looks away, watching the snow falling outside.

 “The situation got tense with the hunters. They had…they had men inside the Sheriff’s department, we weren’t sure…”

 “You thought my dad was one of them!” Stiles accuses, outraged.

 “ _I_ was eight years old.  I only know about that because…,” he shrugs and waves toward his ears. Super-hearing. There must not be a lot of secrets among werewolves. “But one of Argent’s sons-in-law had just been elected as Beacon Hill’s Sheriff and he chose your dad as his deputy. We couldn’t take the risk of him knowing anything about us.”

 “My father would never have betrayed my mom!”

 “He wouldn’t have needed too. He was a cop, if the Sheriff was to interrogate him about us, he wouldn’t have been able to refuse. Not without losing his job.”

 Stiles worries at his thumbnail, not liking what he’s hearing.

 “I guess your mother didn’t want to have to put him in that position.”

 “She should have trusted him.”

 “She was _protecting_ him.”

 “No, she was protecting _you_. She chose your family over…” Stiles stops, unable to say it. “She should have stopped visiting your family when that happened.”

 “She tried. But I don’t know, I guess she couldn’t stay away. I know she tried, but…”

 “She was pack,” Stiles states bluntly.

 “Yeah. She was,” Derek confirms. “She stopped bringing you over when you started school. You were already a chatty pain in the ass and…”

 “Hey!” Stiles protests.

 “We couldn’t risk you talking to the wrong person about us.”

 “So my mom chose to lie. To go behind my dad’s back, _my_ back rather than to trust us. We wouldn’t have told anyo-”

 “I’m not going to defend your own mother to you. In fact, I’m done talking about this. So I’m going to drive you home, you’re going to go to your stupid little dance tomorrow, and you’re going to stay out of this,” Derek orders.

 “Yeah, right,” Stiles scoffs. “Wait, how do you know about …Oh my god, you were stalking me!” Stiles suddenly realizes.

 Derek frowns, demanding that Stiles shut up by the force of his stare alone. Or trying to, at least, but as far as Stiles is concerned, that’s only further proof that he’s guilty.

 “You were! Oh my god, were you following me that whole time? Or else how would you have even known I was at the house?” Stiles concludes, outraged.

 “I don’t know, maybe I was tracking your cell phone?” Derek accuses sarcastically.

 Stiles grimaces embarrassed and slips down in his seat a little. Derek just rolls his eyes and starts the car back up.

 Stiles stays silent, thinking about his mom. He has a better idea of the situation she was in now, but he still can’t bring himself to understand why she would do that. He still feels betrayed by the fact that she didn’t trust them. He always saw his parents’ marriage as perfect before. They loved each other, complemented each other, and were awesome together. But now, he’s realizing that their marriage wasn’t as perfect as he had thought it was when he was a kid. His mom was far from the perfect image he had kept of her all these years too.

 “I’m serious, Stiles,” the werewolf says more calmly a few minutes later, interrupting the boy’s thoughts as he parks in front of the Stilinski household. “Stay out of this.”

 “It’s a little late for that,” Stiles scoffs.

 “No it’s not. You still have a chance to get out of this. Just stay away from me, other werewolves and any Argent. Simple as that.”

 Stiles looks up to the house, sees the light is on in the restroom, which means his dad is home. Derek seems to follow his gaze.

 “All your mom ever wanted was to protect you. For your dad and you to have a normal life. Don’t let it go to waste now,” Derek tries to reason with Stiles.

 The teen turns toward Derek, reading how much he means it in his eyes. The other boy was born a werewolf; this has always been his life. Just because of what he is, Derek is always going to have enemies. He’s never had a chance to have a normal life without having to constantly worry about hunters or people finding out what he is, without having to constantly hide. He’s always had to live with that constant weight that was now plaguing Stiles’ mind too - the knowledge that every choice you make could cost you your life or the lives of those you love.

But what if Derek is wrong, what if it is too late for Stiles? He can’t risk telling Derek about Kate threatening him. He can’t risk her discovering it and hurting his dad. He doesn’t know what she wants from him yet.

 “Just…go to your school dance tomorrow, Stiles.”

 Stiles pauses when he hears the pleading tone in Derek’s voice. What is it with the damn dance? It’s only a stupid Winter Formal, but everyone seems so concerned that he be there.

He suddenly looks up to Derek, eyes wide when a realization comes to him. They don’t give a shit about his little school dance, of course they don’t give a shit, but they want him to be there. They all want him out of the way.

 “What is going to happen tomorrow?” Stiles says with worry, feeling the panic invade his chest.

 Derek’s eyes slide from his face to his chest, fixed on the place where Stiles’ heart has started beating frantically, as if he could see it. Or hear it, Stiles realizes.

 “Calm down.” Derek says, putting his hand against the teenager’s chest, his thumb stroking the base of his throat for a few seconds. This should have stressed out Stiles even more, but instead he feels himself relax a little, sagging into his seat. “Nothing is going to happen tomorrow night,” Derek insists, but the reassuring smile he offers Stiles cements his untruthfulness. Derek never smiles.

 “Derek, I need to…,” he starts to protest.

 “What you need to do,” Derek cuts him, insistent, voice softer than usual. Stiles can see in Derek’s eyes that nothing he is going to say would make Derek spill anything about what was _really_ going to happen tomorrow. “Is put on your best suit and be a gentleman to that redhead of yours. She’s the woman of your life, right? So it’s your chance to _prove it_ _to her_.”

Stiles feels himself blush and he lowers his eyes.

 “She’s strawberry blond. Not…Not a redhead,” he corrects him half-heartedly.

 Derek chuckles, a little mockingly, but somehow Stiles thinks he heard a little affection in there, too.

 “Derek…” Stiles stops. He wants to pester Derek until he tells him more, to tell him to take care of himself, to not do whatever he is going to - not if he could get hurt - but he finds himself at a loss for words. This is Derek’s life, this is his chance to avenge his family. He is doing what Stiles can’t. Stiles would be a hypocrite to ask him not to. “Don’t…don’t forget about my jeep, alright?” he reminds him softly instead.

 Derek nods as if he gets the message anyway.

 “Now get the fuck out of my car.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally finished writing this story, so good news, it's definitely not going to be a WIP \o/

Lydia is the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world.

That’s his first thought when he sees her and it lasts all the way to the high school gym. He’s on cloud nine just at the idea of having her on his arm tonight, so much so that he nearly forgets about the horrors that will probably happen while he’s walking with the girl he has been dreaming of since he was seven years old at his arm.

 Nearly.

 Or not.

 Not at all, in fact.

 Damn. He’s thinking about it right now.

 He can’t help it, he can’t just forget that someone is probably going to die tonight; he can’t stop praying that it won’t be Derek.

Something horrible is going to happen, he can feel it in his gut, but he can’t do anything about it. He has no idea what the werewolves plan to do, he has no idea what Kate is planning either, but he knows it’s going down tonight and he must be a masochist or have a death wish because for some reason he almost wishes he was there. Well, he wishes he were there almost as much as he’s relieved he won’t be, to be totally honest. He doesn’t want to be collateral damage and he knows there’s not much he _can_ do. All he can do is go to the damn dance, be less of a distraction for Derek as he had _kind_ _of_ promised him he wouldn’t get involved.  Derek couldn’t fight the Argents and protect him at the same time.

 Stiles feels his heart constrict in his ribcage when he sees Allison, a wide innocent smile on her face, arm entwined with Scott’s, walking towards them. _She_ doesn’t deserve that though. She has no idea what is going to happen tonight, she has no idea of the monster her aunt is, of what her family has done to the Hales, of the war that her family has been fighting for more than a century.

He wonders if Kate was like her at some point, just an innocent teenage girl, free of the hate that is now consuming her and making her into nothing better than the monsters she’s pretending she needs to hunt. He wonders how that hate came to be. The Argent and Hale families have been living in peace for so long – all of Kate’s life - why did Kate hate them so much that she would want to destroy them like this? Was it the Hales she was after or did she just hate werewolves? What happened to her for that to happen? Peace had existed in Beacon Hills, but… Kate didn’t grow up here. What if the Hales’ pact with the Argents was the exception rather than the rule? What if there still was a war going on out there and people didn’t even know about it?

 

Derek might be a werewolf, but he wasn’t raised to be a soldier like Kate seems to have been. Stiles knows from his research and the photo album that Derek, even Peter, have never been so embroiled in the battle between hunters and werewolves. They weren’t trained for this. Kate might be.

 Stiles shakes his head, clearing his thoughts, when he feels a hand on his arm. Allison is in front of him with a worried frown and a questioning look.

 “You okay, Stiles? You look a little pale.”

 She offers him a sweet smile and he smiles back as much as he can.

 “Yeah. Just distracted by how pretty you...” he feels Lydia turns her head toward him and he corrects himself automatically. “You girls, _both_ of you girls, look tonight. And always. Just even more tonight, like,” he mimes his head exploding by the sheer force of their sexiness before throwing a glance in Lydia’s direction. She’s smiling, having recognized his babbling as a compliment, thank _god_. Allison pulls amicably on his tie.

 “You look rather dashing too,” she compliments.

 “What about me?” Scott asks with a pout, looking down at his suit.

 Stiles knows for a fact that the only reason Scott doesn’t look like a hobo is because of all the tape they used to repair the thing. But they did do a pretty good job of it. You can’t even tell that they used that same suit in the production of their very own action movie, Missile Man, and that suit was used on a character that _exploded_ at some point.

 In response, Allison hugs Scott and whispers something in his ear that makes him blush. Stiles is pretty certain he doesn’t want to know what it is, but Scott is smiling dreamily now, so it must be pretty effective.

 “I wonder who Jackson is going to come with,” Lydia mumbles. “Not that I care,” she adds when she realizes she had said this out loud.

 “Whoever it is, you’ll be prettier than her anyway,” Stiles reassures her, earning himself a sweet smile and at least a hundred brownie points.

  _Nailed it,_ he thinks, offering his arm to Lydia to escort her inside. 

 

****************************

 It turns out that Jackson didn’t bring a date to the dance. Apparently, he has made it his mission to pulverize Stiles into a pulp just from the force of his glare alone. Seriously, he hasn’t turned his eyes away from Stiles once since they arrived and it’s starting to seriously creep him out.

Between creeper Jackson, dancing, and Lydia repeating how much she doesn’t care about creeper Jackson, Stiles has no time to wonder about what else must be going on tonight.

 That is, until he sees Isaac dancing with that epileptic girl – Elena? - from his chemistry class. What is Isaac doing here? Shouldn’t he be fighting at Derek and Peter’s side? He’s not supposed to be here.

The girl – Rebecca? – whispers something in Isaac’s ear and he nods, before going in the direction of the buffet.

 “Damn, I’m thirsty!” Stiles suddenly declares, releasing Lydia from his embrace and coughing as if his throat is parched. “You want a drink? I want a drink. I’m going to get us drinks!”

 Before Lydia can protest, Stiles is making a beeline toward the buffet.

 “Hey, Isaac!” He greets the other boy in a forced attempt to act casual. Isaac squints in his direction for a second.

 “Why are you talking to me?” He asks, suspicious.

 “What, just because we never talk to each other, we can’t be civil on this great night?”

 “At the Halloween party you spilled sangria on me and all you told me was ‘sorry, Eric’ before grabbing _my_ drink and leaving,” Isaac replies, not buying his bullshit.

 Shit, did he? Too much sangria does tend to make him forget his manners apparently. His first sangria experience – he was _definitively_ not a sangria virgin anymore - had really been a nightmare. He’s pretty sure he peed on Jackson’s Porsche too – but that was actually very fun.

 “Lots of people in costumes, you probably confused me with someone else,”

 “You were disguised as future you at an AA meeting, which was just you wearing a ‘Hello, my name is Stiles’ name tag and a fake mustache.”

 “Wow, you do have a rather extraordinary memory! Any other superpowers that have developed recently? Like, I don’t know, super hearing, super smell, hairy forehead?”

 “What kind of superpower is _hairy forehead_?” Isaac asks, looking lost and a little fed up.

 “You tell me, that’s _your_ superpower, right?” Stiles says, angling to get confirmation, gauging Isaac for any sign of guilt.

 You’re weird. Don’t talk to me again. _Ever_ ,” the other boy announces, before taking his drink and going back to his date – Melissa? There was definitely an ‘eyia’ sound in her name, Stiles was sure of it.

 “Okay, that was just _rude_ ,” Stiles grumbles, turning back toward the bar to get his drinks.

 There was absolutely no sign of recognition on Isaac’s face though. He honestly didn’t look like Stiles was making any sense. That was confusing. Stiles was certain he was Peter’s youngest beta. But if it isn’t him, then who the hell is it?

 He turns around and focuses on the crowd, trying to detect who could be missing. It was a teenager, Stiles is sure of it. Even Kate let out that the beta was young. He _looked_ young, even with the bright golden eyes, the wrinkles and the very hairy face. And Stiles knew he’d seen him before, there is still this tingling at the back of his mind just _thinking_ about him.

 Stiles is bringing the drink to his mouth, pensive, when a voice stops him.

 “That had better be _my_ drink,” Lydia declares, appearing in front of him with her hands on her hips and a disgruntled frown on her sumptuous face.

 “Of course, it is,” Stiles lies, giving her the drink.

 “You left me standing there like an idiot in the middle of the dance floor,” she complains after taking a sip.

 “Sorry, Lydia,” he says sincerely, turning back toward the table to pour himself another drink.

 “Something is on your mind,” she remarks, squinting at him. “What is it?”

 Stiles’ eyebrows rise so high that it feels like they’re just going to fly away for a second.

 “You _care_?” He exclaims, surprised.

 Lydia has barely even talked to him before tonight and they have been in the same class for nearly _eight years_ now. He scolds himself when he sees hurt flash on the girl’s face before she hides it behind a glare.

 “I’m not an emotionless bitch. And I’m not _blind._ You’ve been pining after me for years,” At that, Stiles blushes a little, embarrassed that she knew, but also embarrassed because he honestly thought that she never noticed. “I decided to come with you tonight because I knew you would try to make me smile,” she confesses and Stiles perks up at the idea that Lydia Martin thinks he’s funny. “And to get back at Jackson for being a grade A asshole,” she adds with a little resentment, not managing to hide how that hurt too, and how she hates how petty she is for doing this. “Except you’ve barely looked at me tonight, or talked. And you always talk.”

 “I’m sorry, Lydia. I really wanted to make this night special, but I have this…this other thing on my mind that I can’t seem to shake off,” he admits honestly.

 She sighs, crossing her arms and shrugging a little.

 “It’s okay. And I guess I shouldn’t have tried to use you,” she apologizes. “I just knew that coming here with you would make Jackson crazy, and that you wouldn’t try to take advantage of the situation,” she confesses.

 They smile at each other for a moment, acknowledging silently how much of a disaster this night was destined to be.

 “Well, if you’re still up for making Jackson jealous, I dance a mean rock’n’roll,” he offers.

 She laughs a little when he mimes it, but shakes her head.

 “No, I think I’d like to keep my dignity and stop focusing my attention on an idiot like Jackson,” Lydia decides, raising her chin up.

 “Right! Believe me, if he doesn’t know what he’s losing, he sure doesn’t deserve it.”

 She puts her hands on his shoulders to rise on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek, whispering a ‘thank you’ in his ear. Stiles just looks at her as she gives him a last smile before slinking away.

Stiles is pretty sure his goofy smile rivals Scott’s at this moment, but he doesn’t even care. All he can hear and think about for a second is how his heart feels like it’s going to explode right out of his chest.

 

***********************

  Without Lydia to distract him, Stiles knows there’s no way he’s going to enjoy the rest of the night, so he decides to just bail on the dance.

 He’s crossing the hall between the gym and the exit when he’s suddenly grabbed by two hands and thrown into a classroom. He crashes into a table as he hears the door being slammed behind him.

He looks up and is relieved to see that it’s only Jackson, looking seriously pissed off. He will take pissed off and jealous Jackson over an Argent or a Hale any day. Well, unless we’re talking about another kind of taking because there sure is a Hale that he wouldn’t mind t…

 “Where do you think you’re going, you little piece of shit?” Jackson hisses, reminding Stiles that it is so not the moment to have kinky thoughts about Derek. What can he say, he’s getting so used to being threatened and thrown around that it might have lost its intimidation factor.

 “Going home actually,” he responds, straightening his suit.

 Jackson so does not impress him anymore with his bullshit jock act.

 He has barely finished that thought when Jackson grabs a table and throws it against the wall, the piece of furniture exploding under the force of the impact. When Stiles looks back at Jackson, he’s a lot less attractive, has way too much hair on his forehead and his eyes are glowing a gold color.

 What the hell, Stiles did it again. He _jinxed_ it.

  “You are not going anywhere,” Jackson growls, walking menacingly toward him.

 Stiles is suddenly reminded of the way Jackson didn’t keep his eyes off of him the whole night. He wasn’t just glaring at him because of Lydia, he was _watching_ him. Derek must have told him to.

Stiles feels a sense of panic at that thought. That was exactly what he feared. Jackson was supposed to be fighting at the werewolves’ side. He wasn’t supposed to be here, he was supposed to help and protect Derek. Instead Derek had just put himself in danger to protect Stiles. Again. _Damn him_. Why does he keep _doing that_? Stiles rants internally.

 “You have to tell me where Peter and Derek are,” Stiles pleads.

 He can’t let Derek die because of him. What if Kate kills him? What if Kate kills both of them? What will happen then?

 “Yeah, right,” Jackson retorts mockingly.

 “No, Jackson, you don’t understand, you need to tell me, we need to go there, and we need to help them,”

 “ _You_ want to help _them_?” The other boy mocks, finding the idea absurd. He laughs, his face changing back to normal as his anger dissipates from the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.

 “I…I can _try_. You too!  Or Kate is going to kill them!”

 “They’re _werewolves_ , I think they can manage,” the other teen reminds him, condescending.

 “No they _can’t_. You don’t understand, she _knows_. She knows they are coming tonight. She will be prepared, she will have a _dozen_ men,” Stiles explains panicked.

 Jackson seems to hesitate for a second, before he shakes his head.

 “Why should I care?” He asks, contemplative.

 “What?” Stiles gapes, surprised.

 “Why should I care? All the alpha has done so far is treat me like crap and risk _my_ life. I don’t care if he dies,” Jackson snarls. “In fact, I get to keep all the perks of this whole werewolf thing without some psychopath asshole ordering me around.”  

 “You can’t just let them die…You’re _pack_ ,” Stiles protests.

 “So, what? I didn’t sign up for being a soldier in _their_ vendetta. He told me that I would be _better_ , not dead under a month,” Jackson shouts, the fear becoming evident in his eyes.

 Stiles is shocked. He is. And he wants to scream at Jackson how much of an egotistical douchebag he is being, but the thing is…he kind of understands it. Just because Jackson let himself be convinced to get the bite – if he really had a choice, that is – doesn’t mean he has to fight a war he has no business being in the middle of in the first place. They are _teenagers_. They are supposed to date girls, have decent grades, party and play videogames, not go to _war._

It may be too late for Derek, it may feel too late for Stiles, but maybe Jackson could still get out of this. He has already been condemned to hiding what he is for the rest of his life, he doesn’t deserve to die for what he became too. And wow, hasn’t Stiles’s point of view changed in these last few weeks. He’s giving himself whiplash just thinking about it.

 “Okay. Don’t come then. But, _please_ , Jackson, you have to tell me where they are,”

 Why? Are you _that_ stupid? You’re going to get yourself killed!”

 Jackson is screaming really loud now and Stiles is glad for the music at the end of the hall covering the sound.

 “I don’t care, I need to go there. I need to help,” Stiles repeats, stubbornly.

 The other boy grabs the lapels of his suit jacket, shaking him in anger, his iris flashing gold as they stare into each other’s eyes, defiantly.

 Jackson and him aren’t friends; they never were, if anything they were more in the frenemy department. Quite frankly, they have been the biggest pain in each other’s asses since they were six years old. There hasn’t been a failure that the other wouldn’t mock, or a fall that the other wouldn’t laugh at.  But you can’t know someone, even someone you don’t like, for so long without caring about whether they live or die.

 That’s what Jackson’s anger is all about, Stiles realizes.

 For better or for worse, they’ve been in each other’s lives for longer than they can remember. There was a time, after his mom died, after his dad started drifting away from him - broken by her death, after he learned that monsters were real, there was a time when he could feel his world crashing down around him and Jackson being an asshole to him was one of the only constants he could count on. That, Scott’s friendship, and Lydia’s perfection.

Stiles and Jackson mock and insult each other, they always have, but they also have forced each other to try to do better, and above all, they’ve involuntarily taught each other to never give up, never let other’s words bring you down - to cease to care about what they might think - and just be whoever you want to be. Jackson’s words were always the worst, but that only meant that the words of others didn’t affect him anymore.

They could have ignored each other, been just another anonymous face in school – like Isaac, like the epileptic girl from chemistry - but somehow they ended up growing _together_ , even if it was in a confrontational way.

 “The Argents killed my mom, Jackson,” he confesses, eyes watering. “And now Kate’s threatened my dad. I can’t just stay here and do nothing about it. I know I’m not a hunter, and I’m not as strong as a werewolf, but I need to do _something_.”

 Jackson releases him, eyes round.

 “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

 “I know,” Stiles confesses for the first time. “I’ve known that since the beginning, but...”

 He stops, wets his lips and closes his eyes.

 “I get it,” Jackson admits. He’s lost his parents too, Stiles remembers. He may not have known them, but he knows what it is like to feel useless, to despair at his inability to change the past, to make things better, to make them _right_. “I…I know where they are.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Jackson’s eyes are blue in the show, but apparently there is a reason to that, that we were supposed to discover in season 3. Not sure if we still will now. But as I have no idea what that reason could be, I chose to give him the normal golden eyes of a beta. Also, let’s say he doesn’t change into a Kanima because he was still dating Lydia at the time he was changed, okay?
> 
> Not that that story is anything like canon, anyway, just look at the timeline. Or don’t. Don’t.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE!  
> It's not the weekend, but I felt a urge to post a chapter so here it is! Enjoy ;-)

It is only in the second before his jeep hits the closed doors of the warehouse that Stiles realizes his inability to create a plan that wasn’t doomed for failure. His beloved jeep screeches loudly at the impact with the metal doors as if to emphasize how much of an idiotic plan it was.

 He slams on the brakes and blinks at his surroundings, breathing quickly. Well, at least, a car plowing through the door seems to have distracted the hunters. For a second, they’re just frozen, looking at him with wide eyes. Stiles can’t resist waving at them with a sheepish grin. There’s a roar and then the alpha beast pounces on two of the stunned men, which seems to wake everyone for their daze.

 He can’t see Derek, he can’t see Kate, but there are at least seven – well, five now – hunters, a pair of bodies on the ground and blood stains everywhere.

The alpha tosses one of the hunters like a ragdoll and he lands on Stiles’ jeep with a crash. And then the alpha is already charging another hunter – disregarding the bullets that hit his torso. Stiles is still staring at the body sliding down his car’s hood, leaving a trail of blood in its wake, when a bullet hits his windshield. Stiles ducks down with a scream, looking in the direction the bullet came from just in time to see Derek jump on the guy shooting at the car, breaking the man’s neck in one swift movement. A practiced movement, Stiles notes, before switching gears into reverse.

 Distraction - check, doors open – check, it is time for him to get away from here now. His awesome – if you were to ask him – entry seems to have given the advantage to the werewolves. Stiles congratulates himself, as he sees two other men being brought down.

But he still can’t see Kate, which means there must be more hunters somewhere.

Time to make a getaway.

 “Get in!” Stiles yells in Derek’s direction.

 The werewolf nods, slashing through another hunter’s stomach before rolling over the jeep’s hood and landing next to the passenger’s door. He already has one foot in the car when his whole body suddenly tenses with a shocked growl of pain and he starts to collapse.

Stiles grips the man’s arms, hauling him in the car the rest of the way before pushing the gas pedal, the car reversing as fast as it can.

He is barely out of the wrecked side of the warehouse when the alpha jumps on the hood of the car. Stiles squeaks in surprise before making a U-turn and driving away as the beast clangs on his car’s roof.

 They’ve just reached the end of the street when they hear the police sirens approaching.

 Stiles takes a look in his rearview mirror and sees the remaining hunters running to their cars. He makes a turn left, then a right, then a right again, in case they tries to follow him.

 By the time he’s out of the industrial zone, he can’t see any cars behind him anymore. He loses control of the jeep for a second, swerving, when the alpha jumps from his roof, running towards the woods, apparently satisfied with the distance Stiles has helped him get from the hunters.

 It’s only once Stiles gets into town and is daring to drive less than 80 miles an hour that he can relax enough to stop looking at the road to glance at the man sitting next to him. He immediately turns his eyes back towards the road. Even in the dark, there is way too much blood for his stomach to handle right now.

 It’s only when Derek growls “shut up” that Stiles realizes that he’s been babbling out loud about blood, and gore and hunters and bullets holes in his jeep and blood everywhere god damn it.

 “You…You’re going to be okay?” He finally manages to stop ranting and ask.

 The longer he waits for a response, the more anxious he gets until he glances toward Derek and notices that the werewolf has passed out.

 This is not good. This is so very not good.

 But Derek had survived all those bullets last time in the woods. He had passed out there too, but just the next morning, he was okay. Maybe he just needs to sleep it off then? The notion of a good night’s sleep being the secret of curing dozens of bullet wounds seem pretty absurd, but then again, _werewolves_. Guys changing into wolf-mutants. Jeez, his whole life is so absurd right now.

 Stiles phones home and sighs in relief when no one answers. His dad wasn’t supposed to work tonight, but with the murders going on these days, and now this shooting, he’s had to triple his hours. Stiles never thought he would be glad for his father’s work schedule.

 He parks in front of his house’s garage and jumps out of his car. When he opens the passenger side door, Derek literally falls on him. Stiles squeaks, trying to push the werewolf back into the car, shaking him to try and wake him up. God, this guy is heavy! Stiles flails under the weight, his knees buckling and he accidentally headbutts Derek right in the nose. The werewolf jerks awake from the blow, blinking at the teenager for a second before cringing in pain.

 “Where are we?” The man mumbles, disoriented.

 “My house.”

 Stiles shakes Derek when he sees the guy starting to close his eyes again.

 “No, no, no, stay awake. Come on, you need to help me out here. We need to get you inside. Can you walk a little? Please, it’s just a few steps,” he pleads.

 Eyes barely opened, Derek grips the teen’s shoulders to help haul himself out of the car. As soon as he stands up, his knees buckle, threatening to bring the other boy down with him. Stiles barely prevents them both from falling by gripping the car’s door.

 It takes Stiles nearly half an hour and way more sweat that he thought his body could even possess before he lets the other man lie down – more like fall down, but he is really hoping Derek won’t remember that – in the upstairs bathroom’s tub. He turns on the water, ignoring the man’s feeble protestations as the water starts raining down on him.

 “Sorry, man, but there’s way too much blood on you, it’s gross.”

 Derek barely growls before he’s unconscious again. The water is pink in the tub before it disappears down the drain. Stiles’ promise to be back right away goes unheard as he runs down the stairs. He goes and parks his car two blocks away, hiding it as well as he can. His poor baby is riddled with bullets on the outside and stained with blood on the inside, no way is he letting his dad – _anyone_ \- see her in this state.

Plus, Kate isn’t an idiot; she’s going to check the Stilinski home for her runaway prey. He is hoping that, not seeing his car outside, she would have decided that Stiles isn’t stupid enough to go back to his own home right away - which he isn’t, by the way, that’s a very clever plan.

 When he comes back to the bathroom, Stiles is panting from exhaustion. Derek hasn’t moved an inch but the water is clear enough to satisfy Stiles. The boy turns off the shower and sits on the toilet, trying to slow down his breathing. Wow, and he thought the suicides that Finstock makes him run were hard. Try carrying a ton of werewolf muscles up a flight of stairs and then running two blocks.

 What is he even supposed to do with the guy now?

 “I so saved your ass tonight,” he says to the unconscious man. He frowns, trying to calculate how many times he needs to save Derek’s life until they were even, but, not liking his quick calculations, he gives up – he was starting to run out of fingers and toes. Instead, he kneels in front of the bathtub and pats Derek’s cheeks, but the werewolf is definitely out like a light for now. “Okay. For your information, I’m not a pervert. I would like nothing more than to not have to do this.” He waits for some kind of response or well-deserved sarcastic rebuff, but nope, still nothing. “Okay so…I’m going to undress you now. And let me tell you, this is so not how I imagined it to go. Not that I did! Or… okay shut up, Stiles, stop stalling and do it,” he tells himself.

 He grabs the bottom of the werewolf’s wife-beater with one hand, pushing on Derek’s neck with the other to try and make him sit up. “Who the hell wears a wife-beater in winter anyway?” He grumbles when the shirt gets stuck over the man’s face. He pulls a little too hard to free it and falls on his ass when the shirt finally gives way. He grimaces at the sound of Derek’s head colliding with the side of the bathtub. “Oops.“

 Derek mumbles and Stiles jumps on his feet.

 “Hey hey, wake up,” he starts patting the man’s cheeks again before his hands are weakly batted away. “Come on, just a few more steps to my bedroom so that we can get you out of those pants and right to bed, okay?” He cringes when he hears the words he just said, but thankfully Derek doesn’t seem awake enough for innuendos. The werewolf grabs the bathtub’s sides and Stiles helps him get out of it and guides Derek toward the bedroom.

 Stiles thanks all the gods when the man gets out of his soaked pants by himself before face planting onto Stiles’ bed. At least one awkward situation was successfully avoided.

He quickly checks on the wounds on Derek’s back, noticing that they all already look like they are at least a few days old, as do the ones he saw decorating the werewolf’s front, while he was in the tub. Only a nasty looking one on his lower right side is still bleeding a little, but Stiles is too exhausted to put extra effort into bandaging something that will have disappeared by morning, so he just tapes a Kleenex to it so that blood won’t drip on his sheets.  

 Stiles goes and rinses the bathtub, then checks the hall for any stray blood droplets. He puts his clothes and Derek’s directly into garbage bags and slips into his pajamas.

 He doesn’t think sleeping in the same bed as Derek when the werewolf is only wearing boxer would be a good idea. Not when the man is hurt and passed out. Not when the only remaining clothes covering his body are very very tight and very very wet and…nope, sleeping on the floor seems more prudent.

He wrestles with the comforter for a few minutes trying to extract it from under the werewolf, steals his pillow and lies down on the floor. His only sleeping bag is riddled with bullets from the shooting in the clearing – and no way is he sleeping on it after the alpha put his stinky wolf butt on it anyway – so this would have to do.

 Stiles is so exhausted that he falls asleep almost immediately.

 

******************************

 When he wakes up the next morning, the first thing he notices is the horrible smell. He grumbles, pulling the comforter over his head. Jeez, it smelled horrible. Like…like that time Scott accidentally killed his hamster and was too afraid to tell him, so he hid it in a drawer and let Stiles believe that his favorite pet had run away. Poor Muffin spent six days decaying in Stiles’ sock drawer before the smell had gotten so horrible that Stiles’ parents had to searched all over their son’s room trying to find the source of the smell.

Stiles is suddenly pulled out of his memories when he remembers last night. Death. It smells like death. Oh my god, Derek!

 The teenager leaps to his feet and jumps on the bed, violently shaking the immobile man. He squeaks when he suddenly finds himself on his back with an angry werewolf straddling him and growling in his face.

 “Just checking if you’re alive!” He yelps, trying to protect his face with his arm.

 Derek blinks at him, obviously having reacted solely on instinct, as he’s not fully awake. He’s deathly pale and his forehead looks sweaty, his eyes red. Derek shakes his head a little as if to get himself out of a daze and let himself fall next to Stiles. He growls in pain and curls up a bit, holding his side.

Worried, Stiles kneels next to him and inspects him.

For Derek not to insult him in any way, he must really be in pain. The boy notices the werewolf holding a hand over the makeshift bandage Stiles had placed on his side the night before. With a little effort, the teen manages to force Derek to move his hand so he could see what was underneath. He removes the bandage as delicately as he can and winces when he sees the wound. It’s still a gaping wound, the edges bright red. It doesn’t look like a normal wound though. Some kind of weird luminescent substance seems to be in it, glowing purple, and what looked like veins had appeared around the wound. Black veins. That doesn’t look good at all. That looks very, very bad.

 “What is this? What is happening?” Stiles panics, hands hovering above the werewolf’s right side where the wound is located.

 “Bullet,” Derek growls, face buried in the mattress, wriggling in pain as he holds his stomach.

 “I can see that. But why is it like that?” Stiles scans the rest of the werewolf’s body. All the other wounds seem to have disappeared. Why not this one? “Was it some kind of special bullet?” He deduces aloud.

 Derek growls in affirmative, his fangs growing as he continues to cringe in pain.

 “Oh god, oh god, what can I do?”

 When the werewolf doesn’t answer, Stiles shakes his shoulder again. Derek looks like he’s going to pass out in pain. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t abandon Stiles like that, he has to tell him how to help him.

 “Wolf…bane,” Derek stutters between clenched teeth.

 Shit. That’s not good, that meant that he has been poisoned.

 “What do I do? Derek! What do I do?”

 “Need…bullet,”

 “Bullet? I need to shoot you? Will that reactivate the healing process? Is that it?” The boy tries to guess.

 “No…need…special…same…bullet …idiot,” Derek manages to say before passing out.

 “Oh great, use your last breath to insult me. That’s _useful_ ,” Stiles mutters sarcastically, voice trembling.

 He frowns and checks Derek’s pulse. Well, at least it wasn’t his last _last_ breath.

 But what did he mean? The same bullet. Wolfsbane laced bullet, probably. How the hell is Stiles supposed to know which bullet it was? What is he supposed to do once he knows? No, he can’t worry about that yet. Derek told him to find one of those bullets. He needs to find one. But…Oh god, there’s only one way to do that, isn’t there? There is only one way to get that damn bullet and save Derek’s life.

 He’s going to have to steal it from the Argents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me [on tumblr](http://castielific.tumblr.com) if you feel like it, I'm always happy to make new friends^^


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very fond of this chapter (and unsure at the same time, but that's just how I roll), I hope you'll like it too!

“Hey Stiles!” Allison greets him, smiling as she opens the door of the Argent household.

 “Hey,” he waves, trying to appear enthusiastic.

 Truth is, he’s only one glare away from pissing himself as he steps into the house. Voluntarily. He’s voluntarily stepping inside the house of the people that were shooting at him not ten hours ago.

 “I have to admit, I was a little surprised when you called me to ask for help with your math homework. Scott told me that you’ve never got anything below an A minus,” Allison confesses while taking his coat.

 Stiles is far from the Lydia Martin standard of genius, but he does have better grades than Allison’s usual B.

 “You know Scott, he’s always exaggerating. Truth is, I can’t get the hang of probabilities,” he lies. “Are you alone?” He asks, nervous.

 “Yeah. My aunt had a car accident last night, so my dad went to the hospital to drive her back.”

 “Oh my god, is she okay?” He feigns concern, hoping the relief isn’t too evident in his voice.

 “Thankfully, yes. She only has a few scratches and a concussion, but they kept her the night just in case,” Allison explains while guiding him to her room.

 “I’m glad,” he says, nodding and looking around as they walk. Where the hell would people hide their bullets?

 “Hey, by the way, were you okay last night? You disappeared during the dance. Lydia told us she kind of ditched you. Well, she didn’t _say_ ‘ditch’ but that was implied. I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” she says honestly, sitting on her bed.

 “It’s okay. It’s not like I had very high hopes anyway,” he responds, receiving a sad smile from his friend. “I mean, just going to the dance with her was awesome. And I think we’re kind of friends now? So it’s actually great. Thank you for your help, by the way.”

 Allison smiles at him and he can’t help but smile back. She’s such a nice girl. He has no idea how she could become so sweet growing up in such a psychopathic family.

 “So, math,” she declares, opening a book on her lap.

 Stiles actually has to fake sucking at math for a while before, thank god, Scott calls Allison and he gets the chance to excuse himself to the bathroom. He tries snooping around, opening every door to check the rooms. It’s only when he gets three doors down the hall that he recognizes the leather jacket Kate was wearing, laying on the bed of what he guesses is the guest room. He slides in, heart beating like crazy and starts searching.

 He’s really hoping that she keeps her own weapons here and not in the armory Scott told him he saw in the garage. He could justify having missed the bathroom two doors away, but Allison would probably find it weird if he started looking for toilets in the basement.

 He lets out a whoop of victory when he sees a suitcase hidden under the bed. He opens it and goes through it as fast as he can. Allison finding him looking at her aunt’s underwear wouldn’t look any better.

 He finally finds a leather bag and opens it. There it is.

But there are all kinds of bullets in here, how is he supposed to know which one it is?

He starts inspecting each one, but they look like conventional bullets. At last, he finds a little wooden box with “Aconit Napel, Bleu Nordique” written on the top.

“Aconit” like aconite? That was wolfsbane, jackpot!

Stiles opens the box and takes a bullet out, before thinking better of it and taking two, he puts them in two different pockets, just in case.  

 He suddenly hears voices coming from downstairs and he puts everything back as he had found it. He gets out of the room but he’s barely taken a few steps before a voice stops him.

 “Well, well, look at what the cat dragged in. Or, well, the wolf.”

 He freezes. _Kate_. Has she seen him sneaking out of her room? Should he try and make a run for it?

He turns around and sees her glaring at him, walking slowly towards him. He has his knife tucked in the back of his pants, but he isn’t sure it would help him get out of this current predicament. He still puts one hand inconspicuously behind his back.

 “Oh hi. I was huh,” he stammers, waving in the direction of Allison’s room. “Just studying with Allison, actually,” he tries to speak louder, hoping that his best friend’s girlfriend will hear him and come to his rescue. He hears a girly giggle coming from her room. Shit, she’s still on the phone with Scott, then.

 “I’m surprised I didn’t see your jeep out front. Did something happen to it?” Kate taunts.

 Okay, so he may not have seen her – although he’s pretty sure he saw blond hair in the corner of his eyes right before Derek was shot that last time, but he was a little too preoccupied with running for his life to check – but it seems that _she_ saw him.

Acting innocent is not on the table anymore then. Well, it’s worth a try

 “Nope. Just felt like biking today.”

 She steps right in front of him and he forces himself not to step back, looking her defiantly in the eyes.

 “You have a lot of balls showing up here after what you did yesterday,” she hisses, lowering her voice.

 “Just trying to learn math here, ma’am.”

 She chuckles dangerously.

 “You think that I wouldn’t hurt you, just because Allison is here? Think again, pretty head,” she threatens, smiling menacingly.

 Damn, could she smile without being creepy? Or be creepy without smiling, for that matter. This is really disconcerting.

 “I’m sure you could do whatever you wanted to me,” Stiles confirms.

 That seems to surprise her, her smile faltering for a second.

 “Although, I did tell my dad that I was going to study at Allison’s. Or, well, I told the Sheriff Department’s operator,” he continues with more assurance. “Woman named Marcy, so sweet, but damn does she have a loud voice, I mean she basically screamed that information in the direction of my dad’s office. Must have hurt the eardrums of all the people in the room at that time. Which would be what, a dozen cops? Probably a few civilians in there too. I hope she didn’t scream the part where I said that I was a little nervous because Allison’s aunt keeps hitting on me, because _that_ was supposed to be told in total confidence. But who knows with Marcy, she’s such a chatty lady. Worst gossip in the town if you ask me,” he finishes with an innocent shrug and a smug smile.

 Oh, so _that_ ’s why she’s always smiling? Having the upper hand feels pretty damn good, indeed.

 “You have chosen the wrong side to mess with,” she sneers, any trace of a smile having been replaced by anger.

 “I don’t know. You should try our side someday, I make delicious cookies.”

 He winks at her – WINKS! Geez, has he gone _insane_ \- before taking a step back. He hides his relief at the fact that she doesn’t try to stop him.

 “Now if this is all, I have homework to do. And you should go get some rest, that looks like a nasty bruise,” he says, pointing at her forehead.

  

***************************

 Stiles is so shocked for the next hour, adrenaline still burning through his veins, that he can barely hears anything Allison says until he finally reaches the front door of the Argent house.

 Allison has one hand on the door handle; he’s one step from freedom, when a hand lands on his shoulder nearly giving Stiles a heart attack.

 “Stiles,” Mr. Argent’s voice greets him.

 Stiles turns around slowly, heart in his throat as he finds himself in front of a smiling hunter.

 “Hi, Mr. Argent,” he offers, glancing toward Allison.

 Chris wouldn’t kill him in front of his own daughter, right?

 “I saw that you biked here. It’s raining like crazy outside. Let me drive you home,” the adult proposes.

  Okay, so he wouldn’t kill him in front of his own daughter. At least, that’s confirmed.

 “No! I mean, I’m okay, really. I…I don’t live that far,” he stutters.

 The man in front of him still has that Freedent advertising smile on his face and Stiles feels like there’s going to be a lot of Argent teeth in his future nightmares. If he lives long enough to ever sleep again, that is. The odds aren’t looking very good right now. 

 “Don’t be stupid, Stiles, it’s really cold outside. I can bring you your bike tomorrow at school,” Allison suggests kindly.

 “That’s settled, then!” Mr. Argent decides, clapping him on the shoulder and opening the door.

 He wants to protest, but the hunter is already getting into his car, leaving Stiles no other choice than to follow. Those are the most reluctant ten steps Stiles has ever taken in his life.

  

*****************************

 Stiles could probably cut the tension in the car with the knife he has in the back of his pants as Mr. Argent drives him in the direction of his house. Or is he? Stiles is pretty sure he will take a turn any moment now to drive him to an isolated location where he is going to dump his body.

 “So, Stiles. As you probably guessed, I’m not just driving you home so you won’t catch a cold,” Mr. Argent  confesses.

 “Yeah. I got that.”

 “Look into the glove box, would you?”

 Is he going to make Stiles fetch the weapon he is going to kill him with? Now that’s just cruel.

 The boy does it anyway, not feeling like he has any other choice. He opens the glove box and to his surprise, there’s no gun or vial of poison in there, just a book. Well, it looks more like a diary actually. It looks old. It’s thick and worn, the brown leather cover is discolored on its edge. He throws a glance at the man beside him and takes the book out when Mr. Argent nods toward him, encouragingly. Stiles puts the diary on his lap and opens it slowly, not sure if he has the right, if this is what is expected of him.

Inside, the pages are yellow with age and covered with spidery but neat handwriting. He turns a few pages and gapes when he sees a pretty accurate drawing of a beta werewolf.

 “It was my grandfather’s diary,” Chris explains.

 Stiles continues to look through the book. Pages after pages dated from the beginning of the twentieth century.

 “Why…Why are you showing me this?” Stiles inquires, sincerely confused.

 “You want to be a hunter, right?”

 Stiles gapes. That’s weird, doesn’t Mr. Argent know that Stiles has changed camp since the last time they saw each other? Stiles has kind of made _that_ coming out when he crashed his jeep in the middle of the battle and ran away _voluntarily_ with two werewolves.

 “Your dad told me that you loved history, or as he said it ‘knowing everything about everything’,” Mr. Argent continues, oblivious to Stiles’ shock. “Hunters have a history, a code, a reason for why we do what we do and a history explaining how we became what we are now. Being a hunter isn’t only about knowing how to chase werewolves. Or well, you could be a hunter only by knowing how to hunt, but this,” he gently taps on the book on Stiles’ lap. “This is how you become a great hunter,” he adds proudly. “My grandfather started recording all he knew about werewolves practically as soon as he learned how to write. He hunted werewolves all around the country for twenty years before he finally settled here, in Beacon Hills. He was the one who created the code.”

 “You admired him,” Stiles can’t help but whispers.

 “He was the greatest man there was. See, lot of hunters get lost in their hate. They forget that werewolves have a human part too and start only seeing the monster in them, the thing that comes out under the full moon. René Argent, my grandfather, he fought against werewolves for twenty years. He lost family and friends to werewolves, and then, one day he still had the humility to realize that most of his opponents weren’t fighting him because of the beast they had inside, they were fighting him because they were as scared of him as he was of them. He had the courage to one day, stand up and ask people to stop, to lay down their weapons and try to find another solution. He was the first to look at the situation without being blinded by hate.”

 “How?” Stiles asks, resting his hand on the cover of the book.

 How could someone forgive those who had taken their loved one? How could someone just forget this rage inside that was screaming for vengeance?

 “The story is in the book, but,” Mr. Argent pauses as he parks in front of Stiles’ house. “In 1942, my grandfather was called to go to war, World War Two, along with a few other men from this town. They were all put into the same regiment and sent to France. See, the thing with werewolves is that to the world, they are just normal human beings, with the same responsibilities and duties to their country. So one day, my grandfather woke up and suddenly the government was asking him to fight alongside the man he hated the most, the one he had been at war with, _their_ war, for nearly twenty years.”

 “Martin Hale,” Stiles realizes, remembering the name from his own research.

 Chris smiles a little in his direction, nodding.

 “Yeah, Derek’s great grandfather. René couldn’t do anything about it, not with all those military men around knowing nothing about werewolves. They ended up on this boat to France, stuck together. For two weeks, my grandfather was convinced that he wouldn’t live another night, but every morning he would wake up and the beast still wouldn’t have killed him. On the contrary, Martin Hale was one of the most respected soldiers in the regiment. Not only because of his abilities in combat – which were, of course, exceptional -, but he was also appreciated for his friendliness, his kindness. It made no sense to my grandfather for a long time, that such a monster would blend in like that, that he would _want_ to. But then, they arrived in France and this werewolf would use his power to kill their common enemy, for a _good_ cause. Most of the guys in their regiment, they were kids without any experience in combat, they sadly didn’t live for long. Until, there were only two of them left. The werewolf and the hunter, stuck in a village, with enemies approaching. They could have turned on each other, there were no witnesses anymore, they could have finally avenged all their respected dead, but there were still innocent people in that village. Women, children. So they decided to rally their forces, to use their experience fighting each other to fight _with_ each other. They saved each other, again and again, along with hundreds of people, for two more years after that. A force to be reckoned with,” Mr. Argent notes proudly, pausing for a few seconds. “When they came back, they decided that it was time for the war between our families to stop, too. My grandfather wrote the code, and the Hales were the first ones to agree to it. Both Martin and René spent the rest of their life traveling the country, negotiating peace between packs and hunters, spreading and improving the terms of the code. ‘Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent’, it means ‘we hunt those who hunt us’. It wasn’t easy, there always were a few rogues, of course, but most of the people accepted it. WWII was just over; nobody wanted to continue the fight in their own hometown.”

 “Why are you telling me all this?” Stiles asks after a long silence.

 “Because I don’t think you want to be a hunter for the good reasons. I don’t think you know what it really means. An evil person doesn’t make an evil race, and I think your hate made you forget that.” Mr. Argent  puts a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, squeezing amicably. “I think you’re a good person, Stiles. You’re smart, resourceful, and brave. You would make an amazing hunter. But I thought you should know this story, read this book, before you choose who and what you want to become.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

When Stiles gets back to his room, Derek is still unconscious. But from the way he has one arm in one of Stiles’ t-shirts and has moved from the bed to the floor, the stubborn beta must have tried to make a run for it. Thank god he passed out, Stiles really doesn’t feel like searching the town for him, trying to convince him that he wants to save his life…for once.  

 He puts a hand on Derek’s neck; his skin is pale and clammy. Nearly all his left side is painted with the black veins now. Stiles has no idea how this poison works, but from the way he can barely feel the werewolf’s pulse, he understands that he doesn’t have long. He removes the shirt that is tangled on Derek’s arm and tries to wake him up, in vain.

 He hesitates a moment before throwing a punch at the werewolf’s face. After all, headbutting him and slamming his head on the bathtub had seemed to work earlier. Derek opens his eyes, blinking and looking at him groggily. His eyes are pale, too pale, as if a white veil has started to cover his pupils.

 “I have the bullet. Derek! I have the bullet. What do I do?”

 “B…burn,” the man manages to say weakly, voice trembling, barely loud enough for Stiles to hear.

 “Burn? I have to burn it?”

 Stiles gets one of the bullets out of his pocket. He runs to his desk for the lighter he keeps in his drawer. He clumsily opens the bullet, pouring its content on the surface of his desk. There isn’t a lot of powder inside it, but from the color he can tell that it is, indeed, wolfsbane – he’s done some extensive research on the subject after the rabbit wizard debacle, and he isn’t ready to lose any more bucks to a charlatan. But as he expected, it isn’t the same brand of wolfsbane that he bought through drwolfbane. This one seems darker in color.

He hesitates a second, throwing a nervous glance in Derek’s direction as he’s trying to sit up - and failing miserably -, before turning to the lighter. The powder sparkles for a second, emitting a purple and blue smoke before changing into some kind of white powder. Stiles gathers it in his hand, closing his fist tightly around it so as to not lose any. 

 “Let me guess, I have to do something really gross with it, don’t I?”

 Derek kind of nods toward his side, panting. He has apparently abandoned the idea of standing up, but has managed to crawl halfway onto the bed. Stiles hops on the bed, and grabs the man’s shoulder with his free hand, hauling him the rest of the way. Derek falls on his lap, growling in pain. Stiles ignores him, focused on the gross looking wounds on his side.

He takes a deep breath, swears and starts applying the mixture _into_ the wound, grimacing all the way through. As soon as he finishes, Derek starts convulsing, screaming in pain.

 “Sorry sorry sorry,” Stiles says repeatedly.

 He wants to help the werewolf, but he doesn’t know how, his hands hovering over the body crushing his legs. He ends up kind of stroking the werewolf’s back and after a few seconds, Derek’s body seems to give up, relaxing as the man sinks back into unconsciousness.

 Stiles panics for a second, checking his pulse, his wound, but all the black veins have disappeared, along with the injury. Derek is already getting a little warmer too. He is still really heavy and crushing him though.

The teenager tries to push the other man’s body off his legs, but barely manages to make him roll onto his side, which results in Derek sliding between Stiles’ legs and subsequently crushing his torso. He puts a hand under each of the werewolf’s shoulders and pulls as much as he can until he manages a position that’s a little more comfortable.

 

**************************

 Derek seems pretty confused when he wakes up later and realizes that he’s lying between Stiles’ legs, head pillowed on the teen’s stomach. Stiles can feel it the second the other man wakes up and becomes aware of his surroundings from the way his whole body tenses – and because he’s been staring at the guy’s face, but he isn’t going to admit to _that_.

 “Hey sleeping beasty, so you’ve decided to come back to the world of the living? For a moment there, I thought I would be eternally crushed under your big bad self. You really have to cut down on the bacon, man.”

 Derek just growls, lifting himself just enough to roll over and fall head first next to Stiles.

 “Still not at maximum capacity, then? Feel free to nap for another sixteen hours, it’s not like there are hunters after our asses or anything,” Stiles scoffs. The boy sits up on the bed edge and tries to stand up, immediately falling back on his ass. Damn, he can’t feel his legs anymore. He can’t feel _his ass_ anymore, either. It’s only been a little less than an hour since Derek last passed out, but Stiles isn’t used to staying still in such an uncomfortable position for so long. He prefers his snuggling with less elbow in the groin, thank you very much. Derek turns his head on the pillow until he can throw a glare in his direction. “Hey, easy on the guy who just saved your ass. You were kind of cuddling me a second ago, I’m getting confused here.”

 “You’re an idiot.”

 “Oh how I missed those sweet words,” he says overdramatically, putting a hand on his heart. In response, Derek buries his forehead into his pillow. “Seriously though, you’re not dying anymore, are you?”

 Derek sits up, looking at his side, where the poisoned wound used to be. Now that he is fully awake and not dying anymore, Stiles is suddenly reminded of the fact that the man he has a crush on is actually half naked in his bed. He blushes and scratches at his neck, looking away.

 “How did you find the bullet?” Derek inquires, sitting next to Stiles on the edge of the bed.

 His naked thigh is way too close for comfort and Stiles immediately stands up, plunging his hand into his pocket to show the remaining bullet to the werewolf.

 “From Kate’s personal stash,” he announces proudly, throwing the bullet to Derek who frowns at it for a second, before he’s back to glaring at Stiles.

 “You went to the Argents _house_? Are you fucking insane?”

 “My insanity saved your life, so I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’.”

 “You could have gotten yourself killed!” Derek accuses, exasperated.

 “But I _didn’t_ and, again, I _saved your life_. You’re welcome, asshat.”

 God, couldn’t Derek just be nice and say thank you instead of always shouting at him? Yet again, last time Derek saved _his_ life, Stiles ended up delivering him to the enemy and torturing him… so, yeah… shutting up now.

 “You shouldn’t have come to the warehouse. I told you not to,” Derek continues.

 “If I hadn’t, you would be dead now,” Stiles responds, his voice softer.

 “Yeah and now we’re both going to get killed, that’s so much better.”

 “I don’t know about that. I…I had a talk with Chris Arg-”

 “You _what_?” The werewolf shouts, standing up. 

 “Shut up and let me finish, will you?” Stiles objects. Derek is glaring daggers, but it turns out the beta is way less intimidating when he is half naked with a major case of bed-hair. Not that his tight boxer-clad body isn’t intimidating by itself. God, those _abs_. How is he even real? “I discovered that Chris didn’t have anything to do with the fire. He didn’t even seem to know about yesterday’s attack. It’s all Kate, Derek. Not all the hunters, just her and a bunch of asshole accomplices.”

 “What, and you think Chris Argent would believe us? That he would believe you over his own _sister_?” Derek huffs, irritated.

 “You don’t know that he won’t!” Stiles retorts. “He seems like a good guy, a moral one. He told me all about your families’ history, about the code. What Kate did, it wasn’t just an attack on your family, she attacked the whole idea of a peace between werewolves and hunters. It’s been chaos out there ever since!”

 “You think I don’t _know_ that?” Derek suddenly screams at him, forcing Stiles to take a step back, shocked. “While you’ve been living your little ignorant life here, _I_ have been out there getting chased by _everyone_. Not just hunters, but werewolves too. Thanks to Kate’s version of what happened, everyone thinks that _we_ were the one to break the code, to ruin any chance of a lasting peace.”

 The werewolf is panting in anger now. He passes a hand through his hair, closing his eyes for a second when they glow blue, trying to calm himself.

 “I didn’t know that,” Stiles admits. He’s never really thought of the consequences Kate’s lie had on Derek and his sister. She didn’t just kill their family; she made them outcasts, rejected by even their own kind. Stiles can’t help but approach Derek, seeing how distressed he is. “I’m sorry, Derek, I didn’t know,” he repeats, touching the other man’s arm.

 Derek was sixteen years old when that happened, the same age Stiles is now and Stiles can’t even start to imagine how scary that must have been to get home after school one day and realize that you just lost everyone you love, everything you had. And to discover later that you didn’t just lose everything, but you also gained everyone’s _hate…_ that you were sentenced to spend the rest of your life running away from a hate you didn’t deserve.

Laura was all Derek had left and even that was somehow taken away from him.

 Stiles doesn’t understand how that man can still be standing in front of him, still willing to fight for his life. Stiles doesn’t know if he would have the strength to go on were he in Derek’s place.

He only lost his mother and yet it felt like his whole world had come crashing down on him, like he would never be able to get over it. Some days he can’t find the will to get out of bed, crushed by the pain of his loss. Sometimes the memories are so painful that he can’t even _breathe_.

 He doesn’t even realize his hand has automatically gone to Derek’s chest, monitoring his heartbeat, his breath, like his father used to do when Stiles would get upset, whispering calming words, and holding Derek’s hand against his chest to anchor him.

When Stiles realizes what he is doing, he tries to take a step back, but Derek stops him, squeezing his hand harder. Surprised, Stiles looks up from where he is absently staring at the paleness of his fingers, compared to the bronze tint of Derek’s chest. The men’s eyes meet and they stare at each other. Stiles can feel Derek’s heart beating as fast as his own under his fingers, the other man’s breath caressing his cheek, making him wonder how long they have been standing so close to each other.

His eyes drops to Derek’s mouth, which is opened partway, his lower lip is still red from where he had been biting it in frustration earlier.

He wets his own lips and hears the werewolf’s breath catch.  

 “Stiles!”

 They both jump a few feet apart at the Sheriff’s voice coming from downstairs, accompanied by the sound of the front door closing.

 “You there?” His dad shouts.

 Stiles closes his eyes for a second.

 “Yeah. I…I’m coming down, dad, one sec!”

 Derek has already turned his back on him, opening drawers for a shirt that would fit him.

 “There…There should be some sweat pants in there that should fit you.”

 Derek doesn’t acknowledge him, sniffing a shirt and grimacing before putting it back in the drawer. Stiles sighs. So they’re just going to ignore what just happened then? Great. Or not. This is all very confusing and he really doesn’t have time to think about it right now. So he won’t, Stiles decides as he leaves the room to go and have dinner with his dad.

It is going to be hard enough to explain to his dad why his jeep is missing, he isn’t ready to think about the fact that a grumpy werewolf, with a horrible life story and abs of steel, may or may not have been on the verge of kissing him. 


	18. Chapter 18

“I wasn’t sure if you would still be here,” Stiles admits, when he comes back to his bedroom, after his dad had gone to sleep, and sees Derek sitting on his bed. He is wearing a pair of sweatpants and Stiles’ t-shirt, René Argent’s diary opened on his lap. “I made you a sandwich anyway,” Stiles adds, depositing a plate on the bedside table.

 “Argent gave you this?” Derek asks, nodding toward the book.

 “Yeah. He didn’t want me to hate you for the wrong reasons,” Stiles confesses. Stiles sits at the end of the bed, one leg tucked under him. Derek looks like he wants to ask something, but stops himself. “He really is a good guy, Derek. I mean, I’m not saying you should go and knock on his door out of the blue, but…”

 “But what? What do you think I should do?”

 “I don’t know. I’m just…” Stiles hesitates, smoothing out the bed cover next to him. The question seems genuine and he is scared of saying the wrong thing. “It makes it easier, somehow. To know that it was just Kate.”

 It is easier to know that one person was evil than to believe there were so many monsters, people that genuinely hated his mom so much that they thought she deserved to die for who she was friends with. Derek seems to understand what he means without him having to explain it further though, because he nods and gives the book back to Stiles.

 “The end is missing,” Derek notes when Stiles takes the offered book. Stiles frowns, curious. “My great grandfather and René Argent were killed in 1956 in a car booby-trapped so it exploded. No one could ever tell who did it, if it was hunters or werewolves,” he explains sadly. “People have been pretending that it’s been all over for half a century, but it never really was. Fear and hate don’t disappear that easily. Those two men proved that trust was possible, but their deaths also proved that the hate went deeper than the differences between the races. Kate proved it by killing your mother, a human, too.”

 “What about us?”

 Derek frowns, surprised by the question.

 “A few weeks ago, I hated you; I hated your whole race. And look at us now. Haters are always gonna hate, but they aren’t the norm and they often don’t need a reason to. It doesn’t mean that we can’t…” Stiles stops himself. He’s pretty sure he was going to say the word ‘love’ somewhere in there and he isn’t looking forward to the awkwardness that would have caused. “There are still good people out there, Derek,” he insists, looking the werewolf right in the eye. He tries to convey his trust in Derek, tries to show Derek that he can trust him too, in that look, but the tension in the room starts to get too heavy and Stiles drops his gaze. “We have to try. And _you_ have to take a shower because you stink, man,” Stiles confesses, concluding his speech with a grimace.

 Derek huffs and Stiles is pretty sure that that was a smile he just tried to hide there.

  

***************************

 “Was that Derek Hale?” Scott exclaims, running to his side as soon as Derek drops him off at school the next day.

 “Uh, yeah. My car is in the garage,” Stiles explains.

 Derek had insisted on driving him today. Now that the cat was definitely out of the bag concerning Stiles’ loyalties, the werewolf had elected himself as the teenager’s private bodyguard. He slept in Stiles’ bed that night – and how is it fair that Stiles is the one sleeping on the floor? – and Derek was probably going to lurk outside the school all day to keep an eye on him too.

 “Oh my god, is he the guy you like?”

 “What, no!” Stiles protests loudly.

 “Oh. I thought…I mean, you told me about your crush not long after he came back into town, and the other day I found a picture of him next to your bed so…”

 “What? When? No!”

 Oh shit, Derek is probably still in hearing distance right now.

 “When you forced me to meet with Allison’s aunt?”

 “I do _not_ have a crush on Derek Hale,” Stiles repeats louder, blushing and a little strangled, hoping Derek will hear that part too.

 “So why is he driving you to school?” Scott inquires, obviously confused.

 Oh jeez, he told Derek how much of a bad idea that was. He told him! But no, the werewolf was a butthead about it, insisting that it’s important that Kate sees that Stiles is being protected. He isn’t a fairy tale princess, okay? He knows how to defend himself! …Okay, no. He doesn’t. Not really. And it is kind of touching that Derek is worrying about him. But how is he supposed to explain Derek to Scott now?

 He’s opening his mouth on what promises to be the least convincing lie _ever_ when he is suddenly stopped by a hand grabbing his hoodie. Stiles feels himself get dragged backwards before suddenly he’s released making him stumble and nearly fall.

 “Hey!” He protests, even though he is really glad for the distraction.

 God bless Jackson’s douchebag manners.

 “Could you be any more obvious with your boyfriend over there?” Jackson hisses in an accusatory manner.

 Stiles grimaces, waving to Scott indicating that he’s okay and he’ll catch up later.

 “He is not my-”

 “And I don’t give a shit. Thanks to you, I have an asshole alpha squatting in my bedroom and ordering me around all over again!” Jackson rages.

 “Oh, you got a boyfriend too, then? That’s nice,” Stiles retorts mockingly, jumping a little when Jackson points a menacing finger just under his nose.

 “You better shut the hell up, Stilinski. Or I’m going to…”

 “To what? Kill me like you killed Isaac’s dad?” Stiles taunts. Quite frankly, he has no idea if that is even true, it is just one of his many theories about what happened to Mr. Lahey. But the guilt that suddenly appears on Jackson’s face, the way he looks around, panicked, is evidence enough that he’s got his finger right on the truth. “You _did_?”

 He catches Jackson’s arm, pulling him into an alley of the building until they are out of everyone’s sight. Shocked, Jackson lets him.

 “I…I didn’t mean to.” The other boy bites his lip for a second, trying to calm his nerves.

 “Oh well, if you didn’t mean to, I guess murder is okay,” Stiles responds sarcastically, ignoring the way Jackson’s eyes flashes at him…and the fact that he could probably rip his throat out in a second.

 “He was an abusing asshole!” Jackson tries to defend himself. “I knew okay? I have known for years that the bastard was beating on his kid, but I never gave a damn. That wasn’t any of my business,” he pauses, looking at his hands where his claws have come out, before he retracts them. “Then the alpha bit me and suddenly I could hear what was happening inside that house. Every night I could hear that asshole’s screaming at Isaac, treating him like shit, _hitting_ him.”

 “It was you. You called Social Services,” Stiles realizes.

 “Yeah. I couldn’t take it anymore. But then the idiot told them it was someone at school and they did _nothing_ ,” Jackson wipes nervously at his eyes, looking around. “One night I just…I lost control. I didn’t mean to kill him. I just wanted them to _shut up_ , I couldn’t take their screams anymore. I saw Isaac running away on his bike and I thought that if I went and scared the guy, if some supernatural beast told him to stop hurting his kid, he would listen. But he attacked me. I…It was an accident,” he takes a deep breath before looking up at Stiles, pleading. “You can’t say anything to anyone. Not even Derek. I told them that I couldn’t control the wolf, that I didn’t remember anything. Peter was angry enough that I screwed up, he can’t know that I lied to him. He can’t know that I know how to control the change or he…he…”

 “Was that why you weren’t with them the other night? Because they believed that you wouldn’t know how to control yourself?” Stiles guesses.

 “Yeah. They couldn’t risk me going feral and screwing up their plan. So Derek asked me to keep an eye on you instead, blend in. But if they know, Stiles, they’ll…”

 “We will _what_?”

 Both boys jump at the sound of Derek’s voice. The werewolf approaches, glaring at Jackson who looks petrified. He puts a hand on the jock’s neck, claws out, just in time to stop him from running away.

 “Go to school, Stiles,” Derek orders. “We need to have a little talk,” he speaks directly into Jackson’s ear.

 “What…What are you going to do to him?” Stiles asks, a little worried.

 “ _Talk_ ,” Derek repeats with his special ‘you are an idiot, Stiles’ expression.

 “No maiming?”

 “Maybe a little maiming,” Derek admits, making Jackson whimper in fear.

 Stiles stares at them for a few more seconds before shrugging and turning in the direction of the school’s entrance.

 “You can’t leave me, I helped you!” Jackson yells behind his back.

 “You also let me run to my death _alone_ ,” Stiles mumbles to himself, knowing they can hear him.

 He knows Derek isn’t going to kill him, and Jackson getting his ass kicked is - Stiles isn’t scared to admit it - quite a pleasant thought.

  

******************************

 “Did you call your uncle?” Stiles asks as soon as he gets inside the Camaro after school.

 “Yeah,” Derek confirms, starting the car.

 Stiles waits a few more seconds, but the werewolf doesn’t say anything else.

 “And?” He insists, expecting more information.

 “I told him about Chris Argent.”

 “For god’s sake, I know that, but what did _Peter_ say? What’s the plan?” Stiles asks, getting impatient.

 “We kill Kate before she kills us.”

 “Wow, brilliant plan, I haven’t thought of that!”

 Derek just sends him a glare before answering.

 “What did you expect, Stiles? This changes nothing.”

 “It changes _everything_! Chris can help us now! He would listen!”

 “He can’t know anything.”

 “What? Why not?” Stiles exclaims.

 “You think Kate doesn’t know where I am _right now_? The only reason she doesn’t attack is because she doesn’t want to have to explain _your_ involvement to her brother. Say anything to Chris Argent and she won’t care anymore.”

 “But…She doesn’t want Chris to know because she knows he won’t agree with her,” Stiles defends, more hesitant.

 “He may not agree with her, but it doesn’t mean he would stop her,” Derek admits.

 “So you’re staying with me so…so she can’t get to you?”

 “What, did you think I like playing babysitter to a sixteen year old pain in the ass? I leave your side and first chance she gets, she will shoot me on sight.”

 Stiles nods, turning toward the passenger window, hoping Derek hasn’t seen the way he’s sure his face just fell. What did he think, that Derek was staying with him to protect him? Because he _likes_ him? Derek told him himself that he was done protecting the idiot son of his mom’s friend. He doesn’t owe him anything. In fact, things would have probably been far easier for Derek if Stiles wasn’t here, screwing up his plan every step of the way.

Stiles was foolish to think Chris Argent knowing the truth about his sister would change anything. In fact, Chris knowing would probably be the worst thing that could happen at this point since Derek just implied that as soon as Chris knows about Kate, it would be everybody for themselves. He would probably bail on Stiles and let him solve his own problems with the Argents.

 Derek doesn’t care about Stiles, he isn’t protecting him, he’s just using him as his personal anti-hunter protection.

 Stiles has been stupid to think it could have been anything more than that.

  

***********************

 “You’re being quiet, it’s unnerving,” Derek notes later.

 Stiles is doing his homework on his computer, Derek is sitting next to the bed, reading the Argent diary. The boy shrugs one shoulder, faking interest in his work.

 “You’re sulking,” the werewolf concludes with a sigh.

 Stiles is.

 “I’m not. I just have nothing to say to you.”

 “You always have something to say. To _everyone_.”

 “You don’t know me, okay?” Stiles exclaims abruptly swiveling his computer chair toward the other man. 

 “Okay, be quiet then, I don’t care,” Derek says with a glare before going back to his reading.

 “Now who’s sulking,” Stiles grumbles as he turns back to his computer.

 He can feel Derek staring at his back, it’s like he can even hear his frown and the tension in the room is getting really uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to sulk, he doesn’t want to prove to Derek how much of a child he is.

He doesn’t know how or when, but somewhere along the line he ended up liking Derek - a lot - and having Derek tell him that he was only staying with him, using Stiles like some sort of insurance policy to guarantee his safety, that he didn’t actually give a damn about Stiles, that hurt more than he would have expected. So yeah, Stiles is brooding but it’s not because he’s a kid, it’s because Derek is a fucking asshole.

 Concentrating on his English paper is usually very hard, but with a werewolf’s gaze burning a hole into his back, it’s mission impossible. Stiles rubs his shaved head in frustration before giving up. He needs to clear his mind.

He stands up but before he can get out of his bedroom, Derek is standing in his way.

 “Where are you going?”

 “Peeing,” Stiles says while gritting his teeth, pissed at being treated like a prisoner in his own home.

 “No, you’re not.”

 “How would you know?”

 “Your heartbeat, I can tell when you’re lying.”

 “Really? So when I tell you to get out of my way or I’m going to knee you in the balls, what does my _heart_ tell you?” Stiles retorts, glaring.

 Derek leans toward him with a smirk.

 “Try it,” he dares, making Stiles deflate a little.

 “Creeper like you, you would probably like it,” Stiles scoffs. “Save your kinks for your affair with Kate Argent and get out of my way.”

 “What did you say?” Derek blinks, face falling.

 He suddenly looks really pale, taking a step back.

 “Is that supposed to be a secret? You and Kate going at it behind everyone’s back? Was it just before or are you still doing it these days?” Stiles spits, further incensed by the fact that Kate must have been telling him the truth about her relationship with Derek; it’s obvious from the werewolf’s reaction.

 Stiles isn’t surprised when he’s suddenly slammed against the wall, Derek’s forearm crushing his throat. He glares in response and glowing blue eyes glare back.

 “You know _nothing_ ,” Derek spits.

 “I know you’re a terrible lay,” Stiles says, blinded by fury. “I know that you got your whole family killed, _my mom_ killed because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants!” 

 He has no idea if that’s true, he doesn’t even know why he’s saying such horrible things, he’s just lashing out, wanting Derek to hurt as much as he’s hurt Stiles, but the guilt on Derek’s face makes him choke more than the arm pressing on his trachea. It’s like a punch right in the solar plexus and he’s suddenly gasping for breath. Both men stare at each other for a moment, similar looks of horror on their faces. Derek releases him and Stiles sags a little, too shocked to even try to get away.

 “It’s you. All of this, it’s because of _you_ ,” Stiles mumbles as the picture starts to get clearer and clearer.

 Kate’s hate had to come from somewhere. From _someone_. Did Derek break her heart? Was that what it all boiled down to? A stupid love affair turned sour? Was his _mother_ dead because of some stupid teen angst?

Stiles breathes in suddenly, nausea turning his stomach, a burning sensation in his throat. He barely makes it to the wastebasket next to his desk before he’s vomiting, physically expressing his shock and disgust. He thought it was war, he thought it was revenge, but the truth is, all those people died for _nothing_.

 By the time he can finally breathe again without sobbing or throwing up, Derek is long gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be fluffy damn it.


	19. Chapter 19

“Hey.”

 Stiles blinks out of his daze. He has been lying in bed for a while, his stomach still hurting from earlier.

 He can’t stop thinking about Derek and Kate, about what must have happened. At some point, his anger passes and he realizes how unfair he has been. It takes a while for him to admit it, but he wants to blame Derek, because it would be easier. But it wasn’t like Derek lit the matches that burned down that house. Kate did. It didn’t matter what her story with Derek was, she killed his whole family for god’s sake, she obviously had a few screws loose in her brain, or her _soul_. Stiles had no right to say those horrible things to Derek, he realizes this now that his anger has passed. He was being cruel and lashing out when the werewolf didn’t deserve it. Sure he was an asshole, but between the two of them, Stiles was definitely winning the asshole of the year award.

 The mattress dips and a hand on his shoulder pulls him out of his thoughts again. He tries to smile reassuringly in response to his father’s worried frown.

 “You okay, there?” the Sheriff asks, checking his son’s temperature with a hand on his forehead, a caress on his cheek.

 After emptying the contents of his stomach, he knows he must look pale and his skin still feels clammy. His room reeks too.

 “Not really, I must have eaten something bad.”

 “You want me to stay here tonight?”

 “You’re working again?” Stiles says worriedly.

 His dad has always been a hard worker, but these days he is barely home at all, just long enough to change and take a five hour nap.

 “Yeah. I’m sorry, Stiles, I know I haven’t been here a lo-“

 “It’s okay, dad.”

 “No. No, it’s not. I should be here more often. These last years, I know you’ve been home alone too many times.”

 “I know how to take care of myself.”

 “But you shouldn’t. You’re a sixteen year old boy, you’re not supposed to know how to do the laundry, or hem your father’s trousers. You’ve been taking care of me since you were ten and I shouldn’t have let you. Damn it, I should have taped a video game controller to your hands that time you asked for a new flatiron for your twelfth birthday, forced you to go out and play instead of baking me all those gluten-free casseroles.”

 “I do those things too,” Stiles weakly protests. He sees his father’s point, but it’s making him feel like a wannabe Martha Stewart. Manly men can know how to make a delicious ricotta and spinach lasagna and the thirty-one uses of white vinegar when cleaning a bathroom too. “I like taking care of you, dad.”

 “But it’s not your job. I should be the one taking care of you. You shouldn’t give a damn whether I ate the chicory salad you made me for lunch or not. Hell, at your age, I didn’t even know what chicory was – and frankly, I wish I didn’t know now. I…I’ve been absent. I know you don’t resent me for that, that you never would, but recently…we’ve been drifting apart and I know it’s my fault. I can’t expect you to trust me with what’s happening in your life when I’m barely home enough to be a part of it anymore.”

 “What, no, dad that’s not-”

 “It _is_ true,” his father interrupts, putting his hand on Stiles’ neck, thumb brushing his cheek. “But I want that to change. I want to be here for you, Stiles. I want you to trust me enough to feel like you can talk to me about anything. I don’t want you to ever shut me out of your life again. You’re all I have left, son, I can’t lose you too.”

 “You won’t. You never could, dad,” Stiles promises, throat tight.

 His father pats his cheek, offering an affectionate – if somewhat watery - smile in response. Stiles sits up and hugs him. He hates the idea of the Sheriff feeling like he’s a bad father because Stiles seriously couldn’t wish for a dad more awesome. Sure, he works a lot, but he never lets his son down. Never. Stiles just wished he could say the same.  

 “So…I don’t need the details if you don’t feel like giving them and I won’t push you,” his father starts, somewhat nervously. “But I will keep asking because I love you, and I’m worried about you, so please answer me honestly,” he adds; searching his son’s eyes. “ _Are you okay_?”

 “I…” Stiles looks down at his lap. “I’ve been really mean to someone. Unfair.”

 “Did you apologize?” The Sheriff asks immediately. Stiles shakes his head no, How was he supposed to? He has no idea where Derek is, or if he’s even alive. If Kate is watching the house like he said, waiting for him to leave Stiles’ side…It has been three hours already, anything could have happened. ”So, you know where to start then.” Stiles makes to stand up, suddenly panicked at the idea of Derek dying because he’d rather face hunters than Stiles’ cruel words, but his father stops him. “Tomorrow,” he insists. “For now, I’m going to make you dinner and we’ll watch whatever reality show is on tonight.”

 “What about work?”

 “I’m the boss, I’ll just go in earlier tomorrow.”

 Stiles throws a look at his bedroom window that’s still open from earlier. He can’t blow off his dad, not this time, not after they’ve just talked like that.

 “So…Pancakes and bitching about TV?”

 “We don’t bitch, we critique,” his father corrects solemnly. “And know that I do know how to cook other things than pancakes,” he protests, acting offended.

 “Yeah, bacon, but there is no way you’re getting any of _that_.”

 “But what about my beautiful speech about you not having to take care of me…” the Sheriff protests with a pout.

 “Don’t worry, dad, it worked. I promise I won’t do the laundry ever again.”

 

 **********************

 When Stiles comes back to his bedroom later that night, the window is closed and the nightstand lamp is throwing a shadow on his bed where Derek is lying under the covers. The teenager doesn’t even try to hide his sigh of relief.

 “You came back.”

 The only response he gets is Derek shifting in bed so he can throw him one of his sarcastic ‘thank you, Captain Obvious’ glares/eyebrows combination. This man could probably hold a whole discussion just using his eyebrows.

Stiles hesitates for a second, wriggling his toes under his too long pajama pants. When the werewolf just closes his eyes to try and go to sleep, Stiles approaches the bed.

 “I’m sorry,” he blurts out when Derek opens his eyes again, raising a questioning eyebrow at Stiles just standing next to the bed and looking at him. Derek just blinks in answer with a nearly imperceptible nod of acknowledgement. Stiles doesn’t move. He feels like he should say more. How could Derek forgive him so easily? “I’m an asshole,” he admits, scratching his head. Derek huffs in response. But he seems to pause for a second and for once in his life, Stiles can’t find anything to say, so the werewolf sighs before silently lowering the sheets next to him in invitation. “Re…Really?” Stiles hesitates, flabbergasted. The other man just looks at him for a few seconds, before rolling his eyes and preparing to pull the sheet back up. Stiles jumps over him and face-plants into the pillow between Derek and the wall before he can change his mind. The teen wriggles for a moment, trying to find a comfortable position. He curls on his side, facing the other man’s back and slides his hand under his pillow. Derek turns off the nightstand lamp and a few minutes go by, the only thing breaking the complete silence is the sound of the two men breathing. Stiles shifts a little and jumps when his knee brushes the back of the werewolf’s hairy thigh. “Sorry. I just…I’m not used to someone else being in my bed. Except Scott. Not that, not like that! Like best buddies, you know? Not that…Not that it’s different from this right now. I know we’re not…and we’re not really buddies either though, so…Yep, weird. But I appreciate the gesture! If we can consider you letting me sleep in my own bed a gesture…not that you’re not welcome in my bed. You come anytime you want, buddy! ...Wait. That sounded wrong too, didn’t it?”

 “Shut up, Stiles,” Derek growls.

 Stiles can’t help but smile. He was surprised Derek had tolerated his babbling for so long to be honest.

 “What, no bonding before sleeping? As soon as the lamp is turned off, it’s confession time. This is like, the first rule of a sleepover. Wait, do werewolves have sleepovers? Do you sleep like in a cuddle pile, you know, puppy style? Argh, I just gave myself a picture of you and your uncle cuddling. Please, tell me you don’t!”

 “Sleep or I’ll put you to sleep,” Derek threatens, obviously losing his patience.

 “Sorry, shutting up now,” Stiles replies with a yawn. “Wait, when you say that you will put me to sleep, you mean kill, right? Because I could totally use you singing a lullaby if that’s what you’re proposing.”

 Derek brusquely turns back toward him, but Stiles doesn’t move, expecting this reaction. He smiles in response to the glowing blue eyes glowering in the dark.

 “Wow, you make a great night-light,” he teases.

 “I knew I should have stayed on the damn roof,” Derek mutters, adjusting the sheet on his shoulder and resolutely closing his eyes.

 “That was where you were?” Stiles notes, surprised. Derek doesn’t answer and this time Stiles doesn’t press him. If he was on the roof, he probably heard Stiles’ discussion with his dad. “I’m glad you came back,” Stiles confesses before settling under the covers and closing his eyes.

 He concentrates on his breathing, trying to calm down his nervousness at the idea of being in the same bed as a were…the man he…Derek.

 By the time Derek speaks again, Stiles is nearly asleep.

 “I didn’t break her heart,” Derek whispers, so low that Stiles scoots instinctively a little closer to hear him better. Yet he barely can hear it when the werewolf says, “She broke mine.”

 This time, when Stiles’ leg brushes Derek’s, it isn’t an accident, but neither of them says anything about it.

 

*******************

 Stiles groans. His muscles are tense, his head is pounding and his forehead is itching. He goes to scratch it but he can’t seem to move his hands. He tries to open his eyes, blinking under the harsh sunlight coming through the window.

What…Where the hell…He tries to move again and his heart jumps when he’s finally awake enough to realize how wrong the situation is. He looks around him and his heart jumps when he recognizes the Hale house’s living room…or what is left of it.

Stiles wriggles, but his hands are bound to the chair he’s sitting in. From the metallic smell, it’s probably dried blood that’s making his forehead itch like that. That would explain the headache too. Jeez, how the hell did he end up here?

 When Stiles woke up this morning, he had been relieved that Derek was already up because he had been having some sweet, sweet dreams and Stiles would probably have woken up humping the guy. He was also a little disappointed though because…well, he could have been humping the guy. But nope, no awkward (or steamy) morning after, Derek was just sitting in his desk chair, reading the Argent diary and taking notes from time to time.

He didn’t seem to have realized Stiles was awake, so the boy took the opportunity to observe him.

Derek was already dressed in a dark red tee-shirt and black jeans. But since the Sheriff didn’t leave for another hour, he didn’t have access to the bathroom. Which meant: bed hair. Like, the worst case of bed hair Stiles had ever seen. Even Scott didn’t get to this level of bed hairness. Seriously, Stiles was discovering new kinks every day thanks to this man. His taste had jumped straight (haha) from petite authoritative redheaded woman to a macho muscly scruff muffin with a bad temper. The only common trait that Derek and Lydia shared is that they both scare him… and doesn’t that say a lot about Stiles? Wait, _what_ does that say about Stiles? He had blinked, confused about his conclusions and blushed when he noticed that now Derek was staring right at him…staring _right_ at him.

 “Didn’t your grandfather write one of those too?” He said, trying to divert the attention away from his staring and his persistent morning wood.  

 “Great grandfather,” Derek corrected, pensive. “And no.”

 “Jeez wonder why, you Hale men are so good with words,” Stiles mumbled, sitting up and scrubbing at his eyes.

 Did he drool? Snore? Speak in his sleep? From what Scott told him, he tended to do all those things, although never at the same time. He kicks too; Scott showed him the bruises just before he declared that they were way too old to share a bed without it being weird and forced him to buy a sleeping bag.

 “I used to write poetry.”

 “Really?” Stiles exclaimed, dumbfounded.

 Derek had just raised a mocking eyebrow in answer.

 “You’re late.”

 Stiles had squinted toward the alarm clock and stumbled toward the bathroom to take the fastest shower of his life.

He was still twenty minutes late when Derek dropped him off at school. He remembers running in the empty hall –the other students already being in class- in direction of his history class and then…yeah, nope, nothing.

 He has to give credit to the hunters: grabbing a teenager in a high school in the middle of the day, that was pretty ballsy. He would totally be respecting their audacity if he wasn’t so busy being scared out of his mind. Because they _kidnapped_ him. What the hell. Wasn’t his dad being the Sheriff supposed to give him, like, ultimate immunity? So much for that. And Derek was the worst bodyguard ever, by the way.

 Stiles wriggles a little more, he’s pretty sure you can untie yourself by dislocating something, he saw Mel Gibson do it in Lethal Weapon, but he can’t remember if he’s supposed to dislocate his shoulder or his thumb…and wasn’t it for handcuffs? Does it still work with those plastic tie thingies? Oh who is he kidding; he couldn’t voluntarily give himself a paper cut, let alone dislocate one of his joints. 

 “Good, you’re awake.”

 Stiles isn’t even surprised to hear that voice. He’s even had time to prepare a badass comeback to her predictable remark. Stiles’ tongue is stuck in his throat though when he looks up and notices that Kate isn’t alone. He looks at the hunter’s accomplice, eyes round and mouth gaping. He hadn’t seen _that_ coming. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only four chapters to go!  
> Also, you can find me on tumblr here: [on tumblr](http://castielific.tumblr.com)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5 000 hits yee-haa! Thank you so much!

“Didn’t your mother teach you that it was rude to stare?” Kate says, smirking. “Now I feel like I should yell ‘surprise’. But…is it, really? Hunting things is our family’s business after all,” she declares, putting one arm proudly around her niece’s shoulder.

 Allison is staring at the ground, biting her lip and avoiding Stiles’ gaze. She is clutching a bow in her left hand.

 “Was it…did you shoot at me? Here, the other day?”

 “Did you?” Kate asks, raising an eyebrow.

 “He was…He was snooping, I just wanted to scare him off,” Allison says, hesitantly. “The werewolf saved him,” she declares, her voice steadier.

 “Yeah, it has become quite a habit of his, hasn’t it?” Kate taunts, approaching Stiles.

 The boy ignores her, glaring at Allison.

 “What about Scott?”

 It was one thing to shoot at him, kidnap him and try to kill his crush, but the thought that she would have used his best friend, manipulated his feelings, is making Stiles see red. He doesn’t know if he should be relieved when she avoids his stare, looking guilty.

 “He has nothing to do with this,” she says, deflecting the question.

 “Really? Because I think he would take offense at you kidnapping his best friend.”

 “He will understand.”

 “Are you insane?” Stiles shouts.

 “You help those monsters kill people, you have to be stopped,” Allison reasons.

 “I d-“ Stiles sputters when a gag is suddenly put in his mouth.

 “That’s enough chatting for now,” Kate says, knotting the gag tightly behind his head. Stiles glares daggers at her.

 “We’re not going to hurt you, Stiles,” Allison says reassuringly. “They manipulated you, that’s what they do. It’s not your fault.”

 Despite the conviction in her voice, she sends a worried glance towards her aunt.

 “Of course it isn’t. Young spirits are very malleable,” Kate confirms, passing a hand over Stiles’ buzz cut, ignoring the way he shakes his head to try and avoid it.

 If Kate has lied to Allison, then he has an inkling that the happy end her niece is hoping for isn’t going to happen. Kate wouldn’t risk what would happen if she let Stiles go. Not including Derek and Peter, he would be the last one to know the truth about what really happened the night of the fire. He has a feeling that he will be the victim of a freak accident – like a random gunshot wound to the head.

 “It’s dad. What should I tell him?” Allison asks, looking at her ringing cell phone.

 “Let me talk to him,” Kate says, taking the phone from her niece’s hand. “Keep an eye on this one, will you?” She orders before going out to take the call.

 Stiles tries to talk, his voice transformed into muffled gibberish by the gag. Allison approaches, visibly hesitating as to whether she should take it off. Finally she shakes her head and takes a handkerchief out of her pocket, wiping the blood from his forehead.

 “Sorry about that. I kind of panicked a little,” she grimaces. Stiles closes his eyes, wincing when she touches the cut. “I’m really doing this to help you, Stiles. I know you can’t see it right now, but you will. I just…I hope…” she pauses, sighing. “You will understand. Scott, too.”

 Stiles can’t help but glare in response.

 Epic fail for you, Chris Argent, apparently you gave your precious book to the wrong teenager, he thinks bitterly.

 

**********************

 Stiles has no idea how much time passes after that. If you were to ask him, he would tell you it’s been days, but he knows it must only have been a few hours. It’s only been long enough that the sun is just now beginning to set.

 Being gagged and tied to a chair turns out to be very boring. It hurts too, his muscles are aching and he has pins and needles in places he didn’t even know he could get them in.

Kate is getting impatient too, impatient means bitchier and Stiles can’t even retort thanks to the damn gag.

His tongue feels like sandpaper and he’s never been more parched. Allison is hiding somewhere, ready to shoot  her arrows, with deadly precision, as soon as Derek enters. Even Stiles is getting impatient. What if Derek has decided that he has saved Stiles enough times already and is sitting this one out? Maybe he took the opportunity to run away while everyone was distracted and he’s lying on a beach in Hawaii right now, laughing about how he fooled everyone. Stiles’ mind is stuck though, it really wants to imagine Derek in swim trunks, drops of water on his tan torso, but sunbathing involves a level of relaxation that he can’t fathom Derek reaching so his mind can only conjure the werewolf strangling him and glaring at him while wearing a red Speedo. The fact that this mental image doesn’t calm his libido should probably worry him more than it does. But, well, Derek in a red Speedo.

 Thankfully, Kate standing behind him with a gun against his head is doing the job for his libido. Her left hand keeps wandering, scratching his neck, passing over his buzz cut, pinching his cheek for god’s sake. This woman has problems with bad touches and Stiles has never been as aware of the importance of personal space and his own bubble than he has since he met her. He’s eighty percent sure she’s doing it to irritate him though.

 Her hand suddenly tenses on his shoulder; the muzzle of her gun digging more firmly on the side of his head and Stiles tries to listen for noises.

The Hale House has two ways into the room, the backdoor on the left side of the room, and from the lobby where the front door is. From where Stiles and Kate are, both doors to the room are visible. He has no idea where Allison is hiding and Stiles is torn between wanting her to be discovered so she doesn’t kill Derek and being afraid of what will happen to her if she is.

 He shivers when he suddenly feels Kate’s warm breath on his ear, too close, as she whispers.

 “Looks like I didn’t underestimate you after all, your dogs are loyal to you. Those must be some really good treats you’re giving them.”

 He tries to head butt her but she avoids it easily, laughing.

 “Come on Derek, come out of hiding. I’m losing my patience here. It won’t be long before my poor finger cramps and shoots pretty boy’s head off.”

 The sound the front door opening echoes throughout the room but they can’t see it directly from where they are and nobody appears.

 “Seriously? That’s how you want to play it? You know what the rules are here: it’s you or him. It didn’t end up very well for your family last time they tried to save a Stilinski, did it?”

 A low growl answers from the darkness of the front door lobby.

 “Oh right, you probably don’t know this story. No one left to tell the tale to little Der-der,” she taunts.

 Two blue spots appear in the dark a few seconds before Derek comes out of the shadows and steps into the room. From his stance, Stiles can tell he knows that there is a trap somewhere and he’s ready to pounce. Stiles really hopes Peter and Jackson are out there, too. And, seriously, what has his life become? He’s counting on two people out of his top 3 most hated to save the day, here. Talk about a twist.

 Stiles suddenly wishes that glares could kill because he’s pretty sure Kate would’ve spontaneously combusted by now and all their problems would have been solved if that was the case. That’s some serious eyebrows furrowing/evil glare combination Derek has there.

 The muzzle of the gun taps once against Stiles’ temple and the werewolf’s eyes are drawn to the movement before they quickly check Stiles out for injuries. Kate obviously catches the movement too.

 “He’s okay. I don’t care about him. In fact, now that you’re here…” Stiles freezes when he hears the gun being cocked.

 Derek instinctively takes a step closer and Stiles can only scream behind his gag when he remembers the trap Kate has set. An arrow rips through the air as soon as Derek’s ankle grazes the trip wire and only his werewolf-quick reflexes save him as he catches the arrow two inches from hitting his forehead. It’s only a diversion though and in the next second, another arrow comes front the other side of the room and pierces Derek’s thigh, making him fall on one knee. He immediately rolls on the ground, trying to move out of the danger zone, but the next arrow still catches him in the shoulder. As he tries to stand up, another one lands between his shoulder blades, making him arch and fall forward.

Stiles continues to scream, he can feel blood starting to ooze where he’s fighting against his bonds. He tries to scream Derek’s name, Allison’s, even Kate’s, but can only watch as Derek is slowly succumbing to the arrow onslaught.

The werewolf rolls onto his back, breaking the arrows jutting out of his body, and tries to sit up. Another arrow in his stomach makes him roll onto his side, clutching his weakening body with a pained growl.

 Only Kate’s laugh shocks Stiles into stopping his scream. She steps around him and toward Derek, playing with the gun in her hands, knowing that Derek won’t have the power to get up to defend himself now. She crouches next to him and Stiles whines when he sees the way the werewolf instinctively flinches away from her.

 “You Hales are so predictable. The chase is always great but you make the killing so damn easy,” she says with a disappointed tone. She points the gun toward him and Stiles screams again, voice muffled by the gag, as he feels the tears sliding along his cheeks. “Close your eyes, sweetie, this ain’t gonna be pretty.”

 “Kate!”

 Everyone suddenly turns toward the entrance to see Chris standing there.

 “I know what you did,” he says calmly. “Put the gun down,” he adds more firmly.

 He’s holding a gun but isn’t aiming it at anyone.

 “I did what I was told to do,” Kate justifies her actions to herself, keeping the gun aimed at Derek.

 “No one told you to murder innocent people. There were children in that house. Humans. Look at what you’re doing now, you’ve kidnapped a sixteen year old boy,” he says accusingly, waving a hand toward Stiles, then Derek. “You have no proof he spilled human blood.” Chris pauses for a second, breathing in. “We live by a code. Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent.”

 Kate looks toward Derek. Stiles can’t see much from his vantage point, behind Kate, but she must do something menacing because suddenly Chris is aiming a gun at her.

 “Put the gun down,” the hunter warns. His sister turns toward him, standing in a defiant stance. When Chris shoots his gun, Stiles is so surprised he jumps and his chair falls to the side. He squints for a second, dizzy from the loud noise and the fall and sees that Mr. Argent hasn’t shot his sister, it was just a warning shot. “Before I put you down,” Chris threatens.

 Talk about a family with issues, Stiles thinks, shocked. No wonder Scott was so freaked out after his dinner with them.

 Kate sighs but stops aiming at Derek, lowering her arm with the gun until it rests alongside her body. Chris observes her for a few seconds, gauging her before lowering his weapon too.

 “Where is Allison?”

 “Upstairs,” she says, pointing toward a hole in the ceiling from where she must have fired her arrows.

 Chris follows her gaze before throwing a glance at Stiles, visibly hesitating between going to make sure his daughter is okay, freeing Stiles and keeping an eye on his psychopathic sister. He seems to settle on going to Kate, taking her gun, and ignoring the glare she throws him. He then squats next to Derek, helping him sit up.

 “Untie him,” he orders his sister, gesturing toward Stiles.

 The teen cringes and tenses when she pulls a knife out of her boots. So much for disarming her. She cuts the bonds at his ankles and then leans toward him. She slips a hand under his arm and Stiles only have a second to notice the heinous gleam in her eyes before she yanks him up and turns him around. She wraps an arm around his torso and he can suddenly feel the blade against his throat.

 “Kill him,” Kate hisses from behind him.

 Surprised, Chris turns toward them from where he was whispering with a barely conscious Derek. The hunter makes a move toward his gun and Stiles yelps when pain erupts from his throat where she has pressed the knife so hard against his skin that he has started bleeding.

 “What are you doing?” Chris asks with a worried frown.

 “The human or the werewolf, you choose. You say I’ve forgotten what we are, I think you’ve forgotten what _they_ are. You need a reason to kill him, there it is. Kill the werewolf, to save a human,” she proposes menacingly.

 Chris closes his eyes for a second and Stiles’ chest aches for him, because when he opens them again it’s right there in Mr. Argent’s eyes: the pain of losing a loved one. Because it’s at that moment that the hunter realizes he has lost his sister, that he probably lost her to insanity long ago, that he never even realized she has been gone for a long time. Kate must see a change to, because a new tension suddenly invades the air, any presumption of rationality lost.

 “Kill him!” she screams, making the teenager jump and nearly fall forward.

 “I can’t do that, Kate,” Chris responds calmly.

 Derek is looking at Mr. Argent in amazement from where he’s still sitting on the ground, clutching his stomach. Eyes round, mouth open, he seems frozen in place by the realization that maybe, just maybe, he isn’t going to die tonight. That the hunter isn’t jumping on the chance to kill him.

Stiles can’t really blame him for being that shocked, _he_ tried to kill him too after all at one point and he mustn’t be the only one on that list.

How many people have tried to kill Derek for what he was? For what Kate made him into? A murderer. A monster. Everyone had believed he killed a human for so long, everyone thought he broke a peace that his own great-grandfather died to protect. His family was held responsible and he was the only one left to blame. Nobody had believed in his innocence.

 Except Stiles.

 The werewolf’s eyes suddenly met Stiles’ and they look at each other for a few seconds before Derek drops his gaze.

 “Do it,” Derek suddenly says decisively.

 Everyone looks at him, surprised. Stiles’ muffled scream of protest is stopped by a hand catching his chin and turning his head until his ear is right in front of Kate’s mouth.

 “I’ve really got to try those treats,” she whispers with a victorious smile, one of her nails sliding along his cheek before she releases his face to clutch his shoulder. “See, you even have his blessing, brother. What are you waiting for?”

 Chris is still looking at Derek, the two men exchanging a look that Stiles can’t see and doesn’t want to intrude on.

 “Do it!” Kate screams again but Stiles can barely hear her, doesn’t even jump this time.

 His heart is pounding so fast that he’s getting dizzy, the gag is blocking his breath and his head is hurting as he’s desperately searching for a way out of this situation but he can’t think straight, terror and a probable concussion paralyzing his thoughts. His eyes suddenly glaze over, his brain refuses to process the fact that Chris Argent is raising his gun toward Derek.

 Derek.

 A black veil invades his vision. A gunshot resonates. Stiles’ legs give out and suddenly he’s falling too.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, who shot whom? Bets are open! If someone guesses, I'll post the next chapter by Wednesday. One guess only by reader!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone guessed right so, as I promised, here is the next chapter!

Stiles moans as he falls to his knees. He just has enough time to turn his head to avoid falling directly onto his face before he crumples to the ground. He closes his eyes to stop the tears that are coming, not wanting to give Kate the satisfaction of seeing his pain.

 He freezes when he feels something warm and wet soaking the bottom of his pants. He takes a look, absentmindedly, to determine the cause and Kate’s dead eyes look back at him.

Her body is lying next to him, her head near his knees, a bloody hole in her forehead.

Panicking, Stiles tries to wriggle away, but with his hands still tied behind his back, he feels like he’s flopping around like a fish out of water.

 Two hands suddenly grip his shoulders and haul him on his knees. Before he even realizes what’s happening, two arms are hugging him so tight his face is being squashed against…a sheriff badge? Stiles looks up, blinking at his dad’s pale face.

 “It’s okay, son, you’re okay,” the Sheriff says reassuringly.

 The Sheriff presses a kiss to his son’s forehead and removes his gag.

 “Wha-“ Stiles asks, dazed. He looks around and feels like he can breathe again when he sees Chris helping Derek stand up. Stiles is so relieved he feels like crying. “You dumb son of a-” he starts to mutter, knowing Derek will hear him. He’s stopped short when he sees movements from the corner of the room.

 Allison steps out of the shadows of the lobby. Stiles’ sigh of relief is cut short though as he sees the expression on her face. She takes one more step and Peter appears right behind her. The young girl’s gasp of fear attracts the attention of everyone as the alpha jerks her forward, a clawed hand gripping the front of her throat menacingly.

 The werewolf looks pissed and agitated as he observes Kate’s body on the ground next to Stiles and his dad.

 “Peter,” Derek says calmly. “It’s over.”

 The alpha’s red eyes flash in answer and he snarls.

 “Does it look like I’ve gotten my vengeance?”

 Chris Argent looks like he wants to say something, but he’s cut off by a roar.

 “It was mine to take!”

 “She was the only one responsible,” Stiles tries to explain. “It really is over. Allison has nothing to do with this.”

 Peter’s gaze slides toward him and suddenly his eyes flash red again, fangs sprouting, on the verge of changing.

 “ _You_ ,” he hisses.

 Stiles’ heart jumps when he realizes that the alpha isn’t looking at him. He’s glaring at his dad.

 “Must you take everything from me? You filthy stupid-”

 “Peter!” Derek yells, trying to intervene, only to be ignored.

 “Revenge. That was all I had left,” Peter mutters. “All I did…It was supposed to be…” He closes his eyes for a second.

 His face is shifting, his eyes keep flashing. It looks like he’s fighting a shift he can’t quite control. Allison lets out a squeak out when his claw retract and then suddenly grow again, cutting her skin.

 “My daughter has nothing to do with this. Only my sister was responsible for your loss,” Chris tries to placate, throwing worried glances toward the hand around Allison’s throat. “But if you must kill someone, let her go, choose _me_.”

 Derek is looking from Chris to Peter, obviously not quite knowing which camp he’s in. It wasn’t even an hour ago that Allison nearly killed him so Stiles can’t really blame him for his hesitation, but Peter looks _insane_.

 “You took her from me!” Peter shouts in the direction of the Sheriff.

 For a second, his face elongates into some kind of a muzzle before retracting. He takes a step toward them and Stiles falls on his ass when his dad pushes him behind him.

 “Dad!” Stiles yells, trying to get up but his damn hands are still tied behind his back and his dad is standing in front of him, blocking him from Peter.

 Panicked, he looks in Derek and Chris’s direction. The hunter and the Sheriff are both aiming their guns toward the alpha, but there is no way any of them have a clear shot and they wouldn’t risk hurting Allison.

The only reason his dad was able to shoot Kate was that Stiles distracted her by becoming deadweight in her grip – which was totally on purpose and not because he fainted if anyone asks.

Derek is still supporting himself on the wall with one hand, blood covering a good half of his body and looking abnormally pale. The alpha could probably bat him away like a fly and Derek in his current state isn’t fast enough to save Allison.

 From the corner of his eye, Stiles notices Kate’s knife and he tries to slide toward it. After some - more or less - discreet contortions, he grips it and starts to cut into his ties, grimacing as he cuts himself in the process, blood making the knife slip between his fingers. Peter is still rambling about his master plan for avenging his family and how Stiles’ dad stole everything from him. Thank god he’s a classic narcissistic villain.

 “Lisa would still be alive if you…”

 The mention of his mom makes Stiles look up just in time to see Peter stagger forward – a loud thud resonates throughout the room. Peter’s grip on Allison’s throat loosens for a second. The young girl pounces on her chance to get out of the way. In the next second, several shots resonate as both Chris and the Sheriff suddenly get the clear shot they were waiting for. Peter looks surprised, like he has no idea what just happened, when he falls under the onslaught of bullets.

 And then Stiles sees Scott, standing behind Peter, with a huge branch and round eyes.

 Stiles looks from the alpha on the ground to his stunned best friend a few times. Did Scott really save the day by trying to stun an alpha werewolf with a branch?

 “Dude,” Stiles can’t help but gasp in wonder. “You have the best timing!”

 Scott blinks at him a few times before stumbling back when Allison practically jumps into his arms like the perfect damsel in distress just saved from the evil monster. Suddenly, Scott is puffing out his chest, smiling goofily and doesn’t seem to care anymore about what the hell just happened.

Stiles can’t help but laugh with relief, his ties finally breaking behind him.

He gets up immediately, remembering one second too late about his pins-and-needles-deadened legs. Only the Sheriff catching him stops him from falling right back on his ass and Stiles takes the opportunity to hug his dad again.

 “You were so badass, dad!” Stiles exclaims proudly once he’s certain his dad is okay.

 “And you are so grounded,” the Sheriff responds, imitating his tone.

 “Whaaat but, I nearly died, Dad! You can’t ground me for getting kidnapped by a psycho-bitch, that’s not how it works!”

 “So you’re telling me you never were in contact with any of these people before today?” His dad retorts giving him a suspicious look – gesturing to the other occupants in the room.

 Stiles’ attention is elsewhere though as the Sheriff’s gesture makes him look around the room. Chris is shaking Scott’s hand and hugging his daughter to his side.

In the corner of the room, Derek is still leaning against the wall, staring at the bodies on the ground. The last member of his family and the girl he used to love.

 “Stiles?” The Sheriff calls to get his attention.

 “I…It’s a trick question since you know I’ve seen all of them before in non-incriminating situations,” he says, distracted. “Do you mind if I…?” He asks, gesturing toward Derek.

 His father just nods with a resigned sigh.

 “Yeah, we’ll talk later. I should probably call this in and try to think of a believable cover for it anyway. I doubt that babbling about werewolves and vendetta would look good on an official police report.”

 Stiles nods, hugs him quickly once more before going toward Derek. The werewolf looks like he’s ready to flee the scene.

 “So…Nice rescue,” Stiles starts awkwardly. Derek manages to both raise a sarcastic eyebrow and glare at the same time. “It’s the thought that matters?” Stiles tries again with a grimace when he realizes how that sounds. “No, but really, I appreciate it. A lot! Thank you!” Derek just continues to stare and Stiles purses his lips nervously. “Want to hug it out?” He asks with a smirk, extending his arms.

 Derek rolls his eyes and Stiles is a little disappointed.

 “Is she okay?” The werewolf asks, pointing toward where Allison is hugging Scott, throwing distraught glances toward her aunt’s body as the Sheriff and Chris are walking toward the door, talking quietly.

 “She will be,” Stiles shrugs.

 He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be this considerate if Allison had shot him like she shot Derek.

 “And you?” Derek asks, offhand, voice lower.

 They look at each other for a second and Stiles shrugs again.

 “And you?”

 Derek shrugs too and Stiles can’t help but smile a little in return and Derek seems to relax.

 Chris’ voice calls Allison from outside, making them turn to watch her go. As soon as she’s out of sight, Scott’s face changes completely and he hurries toward his best friend, obviously freaked out.

 “Is someone going to explain to me what that was? What…And your dad and her dad they just shot it and what the hell happened to you?!” He rambles. Scott takes a deep breath before plunging his hand into his pocket and grabbing his inhaler. He takes a deep inhalation and, then another. “Stiles!” He shouts as soon as he has enough air in his lungs. “Explain!” His inhaler flies in the air as Scott motions frantically toward the room around him. “Shit!” He turns around, squinting in the darkness to try and find his inhaler in the debris of the house.

 Stiles can’t help but smile fondly at his friend’s antics. He turns toward Derek with a smirk as Scott goes down on all fours and starts to rant about crappy best friends and weird families and secret evil-fighting organizations he’s not even asked to join.

 “At this point, we could make him believe anything,” Stiles whispers. “What do you say, I’m Batman, you’re Robin?” Derek answers him with a non-impressed eyebrow. “Okay, okay, I’m Robin. But why do I always end up as Robin?”

 “I’m Wolverine,” Derek says seriously, demonstrating his claw sprouting abilities.

 His tone is so matter of fact that Stiles can’t help but burst out laughing.

 From behind them, Scott lets out a victorious exclamation.

 “I’ve got i-“

 Stiles and Derek both turn around when the teen’s exclamation ends with a shocked noise of pain. Peter is standing there, in full alpha form, and his claws are planted deep into Stiles’ best friend’s back. A trickle of blood is falling from Scott’s open mouth and his eyes are looking right at Stiles in a baffled expression. Tears are shining in the corner of his brown, dazed eyes.

 Stiles can only watch in terror as the alpha drops him and his best friend falls to the floor with a loud thud, unmoving.

 Derek immediately jumps on the alpha with a roar and they fly through the living room’s wall, directly into the back garden. They fall in a mess of bricks and wood debris, but in a second, the alpha is back on his feet and running away, Derek on his heels.

 Stiles stays frozen a few more seconds, breath short and heart fluttering. He takes a step toward Scott but then he hears a cry of pain that he knows way too well - Derek.

 He needs to help Derek.

 But, Scott.

 From outside, he can hear hurried steps on the porch. Scott won’t be alone, help is on the way.

 But Derek…

 The teenager takes a deep breath before running toward the knife he dropped earlier. He grabs it and throws a last glance at his friend’s broken body before running in the direction both Hales disappeared in.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats to [Literaryoblivion](../../../users/literaryoblivion/pseuds/literaryoblivion) !


	22. Chapter 22

Stiles is running, knife clutched in his right hand and heart hammering in his chest.

 He’s running in the dim-lighted wood, in the direction he saw Derek heading towards. He can hear growls of aggression and pain now, Derek must have finally caught up with Peter

 A few minutes ago, he could still hear his dad screaming his name, sounding worried and angry as he witnessed his son run towards danger. He can’t hear him anymore, adrenaline has made him fast and the woods are large, his dad wouldn’t be able to save him this time, but at least he wasn’t going to get hurt either.

 Stiles jumps over a fallen tree, a victim of the fight he can now see in the clearing ahead. He falters for a second, not knowing if he should slow down to have the element of surprise or just run straight into the fight. He clutches the knife harder, his only weapon. It’s not much, and the realization of what he’s doing makes him stop at the edge of the clearing. Two werewolves and a teenager with a knife. It sounds like the beginning of a joke.

 A familiar scream of pain pulls him out of his thoughts and he looks up.

 Derek is on the ground, the alpha hovering over him. The beast is viciously gnawing at Derek’s shoulder as the younger man tries to fend him off. The alpha finally let go, spitting flesh and blood, before howling at the moon.

Despite the pain he must be in, Derek retaliates by trying to claw at the beast’s throat, only for his hand to be caught and his arm broken. The awful noise of bones breaking echoes in the clearing, and Stiles is shocked into action.

 He’s running before he even knows what he’s doing. The alpha’s back is to him and he doesn’t think, he jumps on the monster’s back. He squeezes his arms around the alpha’s throat and his knees around its waist. The alpha sits up, trying to throw him off. Derek, still lying under Peter, manages to immobilize the beast’s arms just as he’s about to claw at the teenager’s thighs. The alpha roars in anger. Stiles holds on best as he can, but one of his arms is getting way too close to the beast’s muzzle for his liking and so he squeezes harder, forcing the werewolf’s head back.

 Somehow in this thrashing, Stiles’ eyes met Derek’s. Their eyes meet for only a second, but somehow Stiles can perfectly decipher the look his friend is sending him.

 Surprise, terror, hesitation, pain, determination.

 Stiles clutches the knife as hard as he can and nods. They have no choice anymore.

 Stiles can feel the knife vibrate under the force of the impact as he drives it into Derek’s uncle’s heart. He can feel blood splatter the side of his face as Derek’s claws slash through the alpha’s throat at the exact same time.

 Stiles feels it when Peter dies.

 The exact second the life goes out of him, the moment that Peter slumps, it’s like a shock to his system. It feels like electricity travels through the knife and explodes in the middle of his chest. For a second, Stiles feels like he’s going to black out, all he can see is white and everything is too bright like looking directly into the sun. All his muscles tense, but it doesn’t hurt, not at all. For a few seconds, he feels more powerful than he ever did… like he’s invincible, like he could jump and brush the sky or run forever, never tiring.

Then suddenly, it all disappears – the light, the electricity, the raw power that had saturated his being. He’s left gasping. His hand is still clutching the knife, covered in the blood that’s still oozing from the alpha’s torso.

 No, not the alpha anymore, a little voice whispers in his head.

 He looks down and it’s Peter’s lifeless body under him. A naked dead body. Stiles stands up as fast as he can, scrambles away in the damp dirt until his back hits a tree. It’s like Peter’s dead eyes are looking right at him and Stiles can’t look away.

 He killed someone. He killed a man.

 Suddenly, Peter moves and Stiles jumps back, knocking his head against the tree behind him. He lets his head fall on his knees, gasping in relief when he sees the body being rolled on the side as Derek gets out from under it. The werewolf gets up, still clutching his mangled shoulder. He’s covered in so much blood that Stiles can smell it from here. The teenager blinks and touches his own face, his hand coming back bloody. He probably doesn’t look much better.

 Stiles is so focused on the blood on his hands that he doesn’t even jump this time when a hand lands on one of his knees.

 “You hurt?”

 He looks up and Derek is crouching in front of him. Even his face is covered in blood, his hazel eyes standing out as he stares at Stiles with a worried frown.

 “I…I don’t think so.”

 Stiles can’t help but look back toward Peter’s body, eyes round and body trembling. He feels like he has lost the ability to even blink. Is this shock? Is this what shock feels like?

 Derek’s hand clutches his cheek, forcing him to look him in the eyes.

 “You did good,” the werewolf says, voice full of conviction.

 Derek is encouraging him? Yes, it’s definitively shock, the kind that makes you hallucinate.

 “Are you…?” Stiles stops himself before he can ask Derek if he’s okay. Of course he isn’t okay. He just killed the only member of his family he had left. He’s been shot and chewed on and most of the blood covering him must be his. It’s a lot of blood to have outside of your body. It doesn’t seem natural at all. “I’m sorry,” he can’t help but say.

 Derek doesn’t answer, just stands up, and pulls Stiles to his feet. The teenager staggers on his feet for a second, not sure why he’s standing up when he was calmly sitting down half a second ago. Derek stabilizes him with a hand on his shoulder and another on his waist and wow, that’s a lot of touching. Stiles takes a step back, fighting the urge to get closer. He really needs a hug right now, but somehow Derek doesn’t seem like the cuddling type. Stiles has just survived two psychopaths trying to kill him so it would all be a waste if he were to get killed because of an unwanted hug.

 “What now?” Stiles asks, looking around at all the trees barely illuminated by the moon.

 “I need to bury him,” Derek announces softly, barely a whisper.

 He’s looking at his uncle’s unmoving form and Stiles can practically see his muscles tensing one by one. Stiles steps in front of him to hide the dead body from Derek’s view. Derek can’t be in shock too, he’ll have to wait his turn.

 “He…He’s really dead-dead now?”

 Last thing they need is yet another resurrection of Peter’s, last time he...Scott, Stiles remembers suddenly. Derek must hear his heart racing because he touches his shoulder again, seeking his gaze.

 “He is dead,” he says with conviction, misunderstanding the reason of Stiles’ panic.

 “How can you be sure? He…Scott…” Stiles muttered looking around, trying to remember which way the Hale house was.

 “I could feel it. When he died,” Derek says, voice tight.

 That catches Stiles attention for a second before his mind is back on Scott. He needs to know how he is, where he is, is he still alive? He can’t believe he abandoned him like that. What will he do if Scott dies? He can’t die. Not like that, not because of Stiles.

 “I need to…Scott…” he doesn’t even realize he’s talking.

 He’s pretty sure the Hale house is less than a mile to his right. If he runs fast enough, he can be there in…

 “Go straight from here,” Derek explains, pointing in the opposite direction from the one Stiles was already heading toward, ready to run.

 Stiles immediately starts to head in that direction before suddenly stopping at the edge of the clearing.

 “What about you?” he asks when he notices Derek isn’t following. The werewolf throws a glance in the direction of his dead uncle to remind Stiles of what he just said. “You can’t do that alone,” Stiles hesitates.

 He needs to see Scott, but he can’t abandon Derek like that, not when he’s obviously hurting, not alone in the middle of nowhere with his uncle’s corpse.

 “I need to,” Derek says with conviction.

 “No you don’t. You…You’re not alone anymore.”

 Their eyes meet.

 “I know,” Derek whispers, nodding to himself. Stiles tries to smile reassuringly, but the werewolf doesn’t look back toward him. Derek wipes his forehead, only managing to add some mud to the blood smear. “But I need to be alone. For that, at least.”

 Stiles throws a glance toward the Hale house, preparing to bolt. He runs in the wrong direction though and before he realizes what he’s doing, his arms are around Derek.

 As hugs go, it’s not a good one.

 It’s kind of awkward because Derek just tenses and doesn’t hug back, but at least he’s not trying to maim him, so Stiles is okay with it. It hurts a little too because Stiles is hugging him from the side so Derek’s shoulder is crushing his sternum and the werewolf’s arm is hanging loosely between them.

 Stiles doesn’t care, this situation requires a hug.

 A long and heartfelt hug that is mandated to last at least twenty seconds.

 He’s already at six seconds when Derek is shaken out of his shock and reacts.

 “What are you doing?”

 “Hugging you.”

 Twelve seconds.

 “Why?”

 “To express my support.”

 Sixteen seconds.

 “How long is this going to take?”

 Just for that, Stiles takes back five seconds.

 Eleven seconds.

 “Until you hug me back,” he says with a touch of hope.

 “Let me go,” Derek growls menacingly. “Or I’ll make you.”

 Fifteen seconds.

 “Violently,” Derek adds when Stiles just squeezes harder.

 They are at nineteen seconds when Derek sighs and Stiles can’t help but smile, knowing that he’s won. Derek hugging back mostly consists of an awkward pat on the shoulder, but Stiles will take it. He wasn’t even sure he would get out of this alive, so that’s definitely a victory.

 Feeling brave, he nuzzles Derek’s neck. It’s pretty disgusting right now, sticky and smelling like blood and sweat and mud, but Stiles doesn’t care. He can feel the werewolf growl under his nose and he takes that as his cue to leave before he pushes his luck a little too far.

 He takes a step back and smiles brightly in response to Derek’s glare.

 “You know you liked it,” he says, winking. He bolts as soon as the werewolf takes a menacing step toward him, running toward the Hale house. “See you later, huggy bear!”

 ******************

 By the time he arrives at the Hale house, Stiles’ smile is long gone, his throat tight with worry for Scott.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left, guys!  
> Good news is, I wrote another fic! I've just sent it to my betas so I probably won't post it before June, but If you like After You, be sure to subscribe to my page so you don't miss the new fic^^  
> Thank you for all your comments btw ;-)


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, guys, last chapter! I'm nervous and a little sad, but who knows, maybe there'll be more to this story someday...  
> Thank you for reading, I hope you liked reading this story as much as I liked writing it.

By the time Stiles reaches the Hale house, the police have already arrived. He can see their lights, tingeing the night sky with blue and red.

He’s preparing to climb through the hole Peter and Derek have made in the side of the house when his hand slips and he realizes he is still covered in blood. The Sheriff’s teenage son emerging from the woods covered in blood and gore is probably going to raise a lot of questions… and he has no idea what cover story they are going with for this mess.

 He crouches and peeks into the living room instead.

There are policemen everywhere. Kate’s body has been covered with a sheet. Scott isn’t there. Stiles’ heart jumps in his chest in panic before he rationalizes that this must be a good sign.

 One body covered with a sheet, not two. This is good.

 He goes around the house. There are police cars and two ambulances in the front. The first ambulance is only a few steps away from him - its back doors closed. Stiles scampers over to the ambulance and quickly peeks through the side window. Empty.

 Another good sign?

 He peeks over the hood and sees his dad and Allison lingering near the other ambulance. Allison is sitting with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

Stiles hesitates for a few seconds. He is no ninja; there is no way he can make it over to them without being seen.

He takes off his bloody hoodie and wipes his face with it, looking at himself in his ambulance’s side view mirror. He manages to wipe most of the blood off his face and his t-shirt is clean-ish, but his jeans are a little worse for wear – spotted with blood and ripped. He sends another glance toward his dad’s worried face and makes up his mind.

His dad is worried; he needs to go and reassure him that he is okay. And Scott…Stiles needs to know Scott is okay too.

 He only takes one step though, before a hand grabs his arm and pulls him back behind the first ambulance.

 “Wh-“ Stiles is silenced when Chris puts a hand over his mouth.

 He can hear footsteps and voices passing just a few feet away from them. Stiles is definitely not a ninja, he would probably have run straight into those guys.

 As soon as the policemen are out of earshot, Chris reassures him.

 “Scott is fine.”

 “Fine?! I saw him! The alpha-”

 “Scott is fine. He wasn’t even here tonight,” Mr. Argent insists with conviction.

 “Of cour-”

 “And neither were you.”

 Stiles gapes for a second, meeting Chris’ stern gaze before nodding. Cover story. That’s their cover story. They’ve probably already told their version of the night’s events to the cops.

 “Was Derek here?” Stiles asks, confirming that he understands what is going on.

 “Who’s Derek?”

 “Okay. Okay,” Stiles nods again.

 “My poor sister had lost her mind. She kidnapped my daughter. When Allison didn’t come home from school, I expressed my worry to my good friend, the Sheriff. He was therefore with me when Kate called me in hysterics and told me to come here. She was armed and dangerous; she revealed to us what she did to that poor Hale family. The Sheriff had no other choice. Allison and I can attest to that,” he explains. “Did anyone see you?”

 “No I…I don’t think so,” Stiles hesitates, suddenly afraid he’s ruined everything.

 “You spent the evening with Scott. In fact, you’re staying at his house for the night. Alright?”

 “But-”

 “Alright?” Chris insists again.

 “Yes.”

 “Good. My car is parked down the road - take it. I arrived here with your dad,” he explains while giving him his keys. Chris pats his shoulder once before giving it a squeeze. “Should I worry about anything else?”

 Stiles thinks back to Peter running away, to Derek still lurking in the woods, burying a body. Is Derek safe? Is he far enough that no cop will come across him at an incriminating moment? It took Stiles at least ten minutes to make the trip; the cops should have no reason to search that far into the woods.

 “No. Everything’s okay now,” Stiles says.

 The alpha is dead. Kate is dead.

 It’s over now. It really is.

 

 ***************************

 It’s probably the adrenaline, but it only takes Stiles mere seconds to climb through Scott’s window. Last time he tried, it took him twenty minutes just to slip at the last second and fall into the bushes. Melissa wasn’t pleased.

 He’s just reached the window when it suddenly opens and he stumbles back, a flashback of the feeling of rose thorns in his ass crossing his mind before Scott grips his t-shirt and hauls him inside. Stiles immediately jumps to his feet and wraps his arms around his friend.

 “Oh my god you’re okay! You’re okay, right? Right? How the hell are you okay?!” Stiles exclaims, patting Scott vigorously, searching for wounds.

 His best friend squirms away with a grimace.

 “I’m not hurt, Stiles,” he reassures, scratching his head.

 “I saw you! The alpha had his…” he tries to mimic the scene before the horror of it comes back to him and he starts gasping for air.

 He killed someone. Scott could have died. He could have died. His dad could have died. Allison…Oh god, he _killed_ someone.

 Stiles sputters when something is shoved into his gasping mouth. It does distract him from his panicking though. He glares at Scott’s worried puppy eyes and extracts the spit-covered inhaler from his mouth. Damn inhaler, this was all its fault!

  Scott sighs, wringing his hands nervously as he sits on the bed. Stiles knows that face. It’s the ‘I have something important to tell you face’. It’s not a good face. It’s the ‘dead hamster in the drawer’ face, the ‘I didn’t know it was permanent marker’ face, and the ‘I spilt chocolate milk in your jeep’ face. That face never brings anything good.

 “You weren’t at school,” Scott starts explaining. “Allison wasn’t either. And Jackson was really weird about it. He actually asked me where you were, which is alarming enough in itself, but he also sounded _worried_. After lunch, he disappeared too. What was I supposed to do? I tried calling you all, but nobody was answering. I went to your house and your dad didn’t know where you were. I went to Allison’s house and her dad totally flipped, even though he told me not worry about it. I was going to give up, but then I saw your dad’s car in front of Allison’s house. He followed Mr. Argent. And I followed him,” he confesses, guiltily.

 “And you saved the day,” Stiles says reassuringly. Because, well, Scott really did. “But the alpha, I saw him…” he says, confused.

 Scott takes a deep breath before lifting his shirt. His skin is unblemished. Stiles goes around him, checks his back, but there is nothing there either.

 “How is that…” Stiles starts.

 He saw it, Scott was hurt. People don’t miraculously heal. Unless they are…

 “Chris said he will help me,” Scott says when he sees the realization on his friend’s face. “He says that most people can control it, that it doesn’t mean I’m going to…I don’t want to hurt people, Stiles.” His voice breaks and he bites his lip. “I’m scared.”

 In the next second, Stiles is wrapping his friend in one of their octopus hugs.

 “It’s going to be okay, buddy. I’ll help you. Derek will help you. It’s like…you’re not a monster. You could never be a monster. You’re just…You’re…You have superhero potential now, man!” Stiles tries to sound enthusiastic.

 It seems to work because when he releases him, Scott is contemplating the idea, his eyes shining brightly.

 “I could definitely become a superhero! And you could be my sidekick!”

 Stiles scoffs. Of course, he’s going to end up as Robin.

 

 ***************************

 “A little to the left. The other left, dad,” Stiles indicates. “Yes, like that. Perfect.”

 The Sheriff takes a few steps back from the wall until he’s next to his son. He smiles and wraps an arm around Stiles’ shoulders.

 “I really like that one,” he declares, voice a little rough with emotion.

 Stiles nods, eyes on the photo they’ve just hung on the wall.

 “Me too, dad.” Stiles turns around, looking at the mess of cardboard boxes and knick-knacks in their living room. “What about this lamp? Mom loved this lamp.”

 “And I loved your mom, but she had horrible taste,” the Sheriff says, looking at the hideous lamp with a grimace before putting it into the ‘going back to the attic’ cardboard box.

  

*******************************

 Stiles turns around when there is a knock on his bedroom door. Derek enters, eyes round and looking a little terrified.

 “Your dad just invited me to dinner,” the werewolf declares sombrely.

 “I hope you like salad,” Stiles responds before continuing with a shout “because there is no way we’re eating red meat tonight!”

 He snickers when he hears his dad grumbling about werewolves and their need for red meat and manners. Stiles closes the door emphatically.

 When he turns around, Derek’s eyes are fixed on the box sitting on his bed. He looks tense, like he simultaneously wants to reach for it and bolt.

 “It’s some of my mom’s things. I thought you would like to…” Stiles bites his lip, before taking a photo album out of the box. “Here,” he says as he puts it into Derek’s hands. The werewolf blinks at it for a few seconds and Stiles fidgets. He was hoping for a thank you or a hug or a declaration of love or _something._ “I kept a few, but most of those are of your family so I figured…I mean with the fire I don’t know if you still have a lot of-”

 “Thank you.”

 Stiles looks at the werewolf’s hand on his forearm. From Derek, it’s basically the equivalent of a hug.

It feels weird though. Not disagreeable, but weird. Like it’s burning him, but in a good way. He feels like he can breathe easier, like he’s stronger and healthier, energy buzzing under his skin.

Maybe it’s just arousal, though.

Before he has the time to analyze it longer, Derek has removed his hand from Stiles’ arm and is sitting on the bed. Stiles frowns, the strange sensation disappearing with the touch. He hesitates a second before sitting next to Derek who seems transfixed as he stares at the cover of the album, like he doesn’t dare open it.

Stiles moves his leg a little, nudging Derek’s knee with his own. The sensation is back as soon as they touch and Derek looks at their knees for a second with an intense frown and…is he growling? Or purring maybe? There is definitely a strange sound coming from his throat.

Stiles is already opening his mouth to question it when Derek abruptly stands up, cutting him off.

 The werewolf’s back is to him as he feigned being very interested in a book on Stiles’ desk. The teenager seriously doubts Derek has a secret passion for trigonometry though.

 “Did you hear anything from Jackson?” he asks, deciding to let the werewolf’s weird behaviour go, it’s not like it’s that unusual for Derek. The guy thrives on weirdness.

 “Looks like he left town.”

 “Aren’t you going to search for him?”

 “I may be the alpha now, but I’m not his. His cowardice wouldn’t benefit my pack.”

 “Scott is not yours either and yet you’re helping him.”

 Derek just throws him an annoyed glance over his shoulder and Stiles gets the signal that he should drop the subject.

Scott isn’t exactly a perfect beta right now. Now that he’s gotten  Keeping Your Wolf in Check 101, Scott’s started working under the assumption that if he ignores his werewolfiness it will just go away and thus has been avoiding Derek at all costs despite the fact that his first full moon is in just under two weeks.

 “I remember those,” Derek says, thankfully changing the subject. He turns around to show Stiles the Russian nesting doll he’s holding. Stiles didn’t have the heart to put them back in the attic. “You were such a weird kid. Who chooses a Russian nesting doll as their security blanket? There used to be…” Derek adds, contemplative, as he starts to open the dolls one by one until he reveals the tiniest doll. He puts the rest of the dolls on the desk, rolling the tiniest one between his pointer finger and thumb before he…sniffs it?

 “And I’m the weird one,” Stiles scoffs. Derek throws him a quick glance over his shoulder before coming to stand in front of him and holding the doll right in front of his face. Stiles raises an eyebrow at him and Derek gestures to the doll. Grimacing, Stiles sniffs at the doll. It smells like…”Is that bubble gum?”

 “Laura’s favorite nail polish,” Derek explains turning the doll to show Stiles the pink trace of nail polish on the bottom of the doll. “I used to hate that smell and she would put it on her nails on purpose, even though she hated it just as much as I did,” he explains. “You would always lose the littlest doll, like, you would spend the afternoon in the living room and somehow we would find that damn doll under the kitchen counter or in the rose bushes and you would scream your head off until we found it, it used to drive your mom crazy.” Derek can’t help but smile a little at the memory. “My dad was teaching me to track by scent at that time; he put the nail polish on the doll so I could find it for you. Of course, being the little shit that you wer-“

 “Hey!”

 “You would hide it on purpose. Like I was your dog playing fetch or something.”

 “That’s called training, actually. I was always brilliant.”

 “Oh, so Einstein used to run around naked singing Lou Bega too?”

 “I…” Stiles gapes, getting bright red. “I did _not_.”

 “You even had this little dance. Wanted me to be your Rita,” Derek teases.

 “Shut up!” Stiles says, embarrassed. He can’t help but smile though when he sees Derek genuinely laugh at the memory. “You should do that more often,” he can’t help but say.

 “Mock you?”

 “Laugh.”

 “It’s not like there were many reasons to,” the werewolf responds, sobering up.

 Derek bites his lip, looking down with a frown. Stiles gets up and uses the excuse of taking the doll from the other man’s hand to touch him, letting his touch linger, trying to appreciate the elusive sensation.

 “There weren’t,” Stiles acquiesces. “But now that I know that it’s actually possible for your lips to bend upward, I’m going to jump on every opportunity to make it happen.”

 Cheesy, but it works, Stiles notes as Derek smirks.

 “And how will you do that? Are you gonna…” he contemplates, smirking. “Jump up and down, and move it all around?”

 Stiles frowns.

 “Shake your head to the sound; put your hands on the ground?” Derek continues, mocking.

 Stiles gapes.

 “Take one step left and one ste-“

 “What, you want me to re-enact that scene? Is that your way of asking me to get naked?”

 Derek closes his mouth, dumbfounded. Stiles doesn’t have time to savor his victory though as the smirk comes back on Derek’s face, full of mischief.

 “What if it is?” the werewolf asks taking the last step between them.

 Stiles can feel his face burning with a renewed blush, but he mimes contemplating it.

 “That can be arranged,” he declares just before pressing his lips against his ex-nemesis’.

  

**The end**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, imagine naked four years old Stiles singing and dancing:
> 
> jump up and down and move it all around  
> shake your head to the sound put your hands an the ground  
> take one step left and one step right  
> one to the front and one to the side  
> clap your hands once and clap your hands twice  
> and if it looks like this then you doin' it right
> 
> a little bit of Monica in my life  
> a little bit of Erica by my side  
> a little bit of Rita is all I need  
> a little bit of Tina is what I see  
> a little bit of Sandra in the sun  
> a little bit of Mary all night long  
> a little bit of Jessica here I am  
> a little bit of you makes me your man
> 
>  
> 
> [ **You can listen to the song here** ](http://kinkyturtle.masemware.com/sound/music/OWP/Lou%20Bega%20-%20Mambo%20No%205.mp3) (You know you want to)
> 
> Also, you can follow me on tumblr ( [You know you want to too](http://castielific.tumblr.com/))


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